Hill and Home
by Merlin Missy
Summary: Consequences 2. Two houseguests come to Wyvern, sending ripples through the lives of the other residents.
1. Chapter 1

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Two: Hill and Home (1/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1997, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

Second verse, same as the first: Disney and Buena Vista own all the  
characters and situations. No infringement on their copyright is  
intended or should be inferred. Henry FitzMartin is the property  
of Tara O'Shea and is used by permission. The excerpt in the  
second section is from The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle, and is  
used without permission but with the best of intentions.

VVVVV

Early afternoon sunlight filtered into the library, catching  
on dust motes, turning them briefly into pixie sparkles, then  
setting them back into gloom. The gargoyles were sound asleep,  
Alex was down for a nap, David was on the 39th floor conferring  
with a new junior V.P.. Fox had time to lose herself within the  
pages of an ancient book or two, making notes as needed, continuing  
her research on her mother's kind. Her kind. Whatever. Her  
former history teachers would no doubt be horrified at her choice  
of topics, but to her knowledge none of them had recently  
discovered themselves to be children of the Fairy Queen.

She'd been drawn this time into a volume of Shelley's which  
had been published when the man was less than forty years in his  
grave. His spirit came alive for her, taking her with him as they  
traveled in Queen Mab's enchanted chaise:

"Awhile thou stoodst  
Baffled and gloomy; then thou didst sum up  
The elements of all that thou didst know;  
The changing seasons, winter's leafless reign,  
The budding of the heaven-breathing trees,  
The eternal orbs that beautify the night,  
The sun-rise and the setting of the moon,  
Earthquakes and wars, and poisons and disease,  
And all their causes, to an abstract point,  
Converging, thou didst bend, and called it GOD ... "

"Here is the information you requested." Owen's voice jerked  
her out of the semi-trance she'd been in as she'd read. Quickly,  
she closed the book of poetry, hoped it would cover the title of  
the tome beneath it. A distinctive Celtic knot pattern continued  
to glare up accusingly at them both.

She took the proffered file, glanced at the name on the tab in  
his impossibly precise handwriting. "Sloane?"

"Victoria Sloane, nee Phillips, nee Fraser. Their mother."

"What about their father?" She flipped through the thin set  
of papers. There were photocopies of a drivers' license, a tax  
return, a marriage license. She didn't want to know how he'd  
obtained them.

"He left in 1972. I haven't been able to locate him."

"Keep trying. We need to find whatever we can on these  
people."

"I don't see why you're bothering."

She looked up from the file. "What?"

"I fail to see how tracking down Hyena's family is of any  
importance other than to waste my time."

She blinked at him, wondering for a moment if somehow, Vogel  
had killed Owen, bleached his own hair and secretly taken his  
place. That had been the plot, so to speak, of her first movie, a  
made-for-USA flop. She'd played the best friend of the woman who'd  
been married to the dead man, and she'd spoken precisely three  
lines before getting blown away by his double. The entire scene  
had ended up on the cutting room floor to make room for  
commercials. She'd gotten a new agent after that one.

Nah. Vogel didn't have enough imagination. Owen was simply  
in a bad mood. Again.

"Would you prefer we handed the baby over to Jackal?"

"I would prefer we didn't get involved in this. May I remind  
you that you have your own child with whom to concern yourself? We  
need to focus upon his education, lest he level the city when he  
reaches kindergarten!"

"That's your responsibility. I have others, including finding  
a place for this kid when he's born. It looks right now like our  
best option is his grandmother."

"Why not? She's probably the child's only one."

"We don't know that, and until we do, we're not discussing it  
around Mrs. Sloane or anyone else."

He muttered something almost inaudibly. She heard  
"Pointless."

She drew in a breath, then said in a low, clear voice, "Mr.  
Burnett, if you are incapable of performing this task, I will find  
someone else who can."

He stood back as if slapped. "I am perfectly capable of  
fulfilling your request," he said, more subdued.

"Good. I'll have Harvey take me to meet Mrs. Sloane tomorrow  
or Friday. In the meantime, try to track down Mr. Phillips, at  
least determine if he's still alive."

"Fine," he said, and walked out.

Fox watched him go, then turned back to the book below the  
volume of poetry. It was a collection, although by no means complete,  
of myths and legends from the British Isles surrounding the Fay.  
Within, she'd found her first reference of the Fairy Court outside of  
Shakespeare and Jonson. Many of the stories had been retold and  
changed into gibberish. Others contradicted themselves horribly.  
When she'd skimmed through everything she knew to be patently false,  
and added in what she'd been able to gather of the truth, she'd been left  
with a surprisingly large chunk of information. She had come to a  
clearer understanding of just who and what her mother was, the same  
for her stepfather. The rest of the Children were more difficult to  
categorize, being not only tricksters, but nurturers, healers, guides,  
gods. Her sources couldn't decide if they were good, evil, or beyond  
such paltry human terms, and the more she read, the more confused she  
became on what it meant to be fay, or to have been only to lose one's  
gifts and be bound to a mortal's little existence.

She feared it might be enough to drive one mad.

VVVVV

"'"But what if it prove that I am no harper?  
That I lied for your love most monstrously?"  
"Why then I'll teach you to play and to sing,  
For I dearly love a good harp," said she.'"

Broadway looked up from the book and grinned at her. Angela  
could not prevent her smile in return, although he was no doubt  
unaware that she smiled more for the checkered apron around his  
waist and his hand stirring the pot of jambalaya than for the poem  
itself.

She applauded. "I like it."

"I thought you might have."

"My favorite part was the line about it not being such a bad  
thing to have loved a unicorn."

"Mine too."

He continued stirring the pot, as they fell into silence. His  
words still gleamed among the pots and pans, having been caught  
there while he spoke them. Angela was half-certain that, should  
she open a drawer, she would hear Molly's voice, crying for Maid  
Marian.

She shook the illusion from herself.

She had grown up in the fairy land, in the palace of Oberon  
himself, but the magic of that place had been more a low, easy  
murmur, like the sound of the tides washing up at the beach. This  
castle was not at all enchanted, yet it seemed to discharge energy  
like lightning. Perhaps it was due to the raw power of the child  
sleeping in the nursery, and of his tutor, currently hiding in his  
mortal shell behind a terminal, doing heavens only knew what for  
their host. Perhaps it was simply that Wyvern was the place she'd  
always associated in her mind with fairy tales, and stories of old  
times, told by firelight in three beloved voices. It breathed a  
magic of its own, even when the real sorcery had been stilled after  
the evening's lessons.

Was it magic, then, that she felt as she watched him continue  
to stir the pot, or just another shade of friendship, made more  
glittery by the chimeras in her imagination? And did it matter?

"Broadway?"

"Yeah?" he asked very quickly. His eyes were wide, like a  
hatchling's, as if he'd heard, or thought he'd heard, another  
question in her tone.

"You like mysteries."

"Yeah." His gaze had returned to the jambalaya and  
disappointment filled his voice.

"I think I have a mystery on my hands, and I'd like your help.  
If you're interested."

"Um, sure. What is it?"

She had his attention. Now, what to do with it? She sat on  
one of the fine wooden stools and placed her feet on the rungs, so  
that her knees provided a convenient rest for her elbows. She  
watched him watch her position herself, and smiled inwardly. Boys.

"I'm not entirely sure. Whenever I start talking about  
Avalon, Owen gets really ... weird."

"Owen's always weird. I wouldn't worry about it."

"Weirder than usual."

Broadway put on his thinker's face. "Well, he's from there.  
Maybe it's like when we talked about the castle while we lived at  
the clocktower. It's fun to remember, but it hurts, too."

"Maybe." She shook her head. "There's more. It's not just  
when I talk about Avalon. There's something about my parents," she  
corrected herself, "our /i>other /i> parents, the Guardian and Princess  
Katharine and the Magus. I'm not sure what."

"Why don't you just ask him?" She sighed.

"I can't."

"Then ... " He stopped, as if spending a very quick moment in  
internal debate. "What do you want to do about it?"

What _did_ she want to do? "I want ... I'd like it if you  
would help me observe him, see if you notice the same things I did.  
Maybe I'm just crazy."

"You're not," he said earnestly, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks."

He looked down at the pot once more, a slight flush to his  
bluish face. She observed him, not with the detachment she'd  
fostered in herself towards all three of the boys, but with a  
fondness she could not quite express. He was a dear. No, he  
wasn't Gabriel, but then, no one was, and Gabriel was very far away  
from her now.

"So," she said, dismissing Owen from her mind for the time  
being, "what would you like to read next?"

VVVVV

Usually, going for a moonlight stroll in Central Park was  
enough to get one tossed into the psychiatric ward for a suicide  
watch. When one was taking that stroll hand in claw with a  
gargoyle, with this new group calling themselves Quarrymen about,  
it wasn't suicide, but it probably was asking for trouble. On  
the other hand, they needed to talk, preferably on neutral  
territory. The castle was his domain, the apartment hers, but the  
Park belonged to them both, and in many ways, it belonged to them  
together.

A week had passed since Maggie's parents had returned without  
her to Ohio. She'd seen Maggie once in the intervening days, and  
while there had been a sadness about her, at the same time, there  
had been a new kind of strength which Elisa had never before  
observed in her. She wasn't going to spend her time worrying about  
what her father might say or do concerning the rest of her life;  
she had other things with which to occupy herself. The clones  
still needed her. The child she carried would need her strength  
very badly in the coming months. Elisa remembered a little from  
her high school biology classes, and thought she recalled something  
about all the eggs in a human female's body being produced by the  
age of two. Therefore, the baby would be human. Probably.

Babies had been on her mind a bit lately. She _did_ remember  
enough of that class to be relatively certain that the course of  
action she was now contemplating would not result in a cute,  
squirming little accident.

She looked up at her companion, trying to read in the angle of  
his neck, the tilt of his mouth, if he'd had the same thoughts.

"Goliath ... " she started.

"Elisa ... " he said at the same time. He stopped, and looked  
down at her sheepishly. "Go on."

"No, you say what you were going to say."

"After you."

She noticed the flicker of a lightning bug in the path before  
them. Moments later, it was answered from just beyond a park  
bench. Mating, she thought. It had to be easier to be a bug, she  
thought. He flickers, and if he has a cute light, you respond. A  
few minutes later, you eat him. Or maybe that was for praying  
mantises.

"I've been thinking," she started.

There was a shout from a short distance away. Goliath pulled  
her off the path into shadow, and they remained there for a few  
moments, listening. There were voices, but they didn't sound like  
Quarrymen voices. In fact, they sounded like they needed help.

With a nod of agreement, Elisa moved through the bushes  
towards the noise, while Goliath climbed a tree to get height for  
liftoff. As she pushed aside some foliage, she saw an annoyingly  
commonplace sight: three punks were surrounding another couple  
who'd been walking through the park. An older couple. Who looked  
awfully familiar.

She groaned inwardly, and asked no one at all what on earth  
the Guardian and Princess Katharine were doing in the middle of the  
night in Central Park. One of the punks had a knife. Tom had a  
sword. Despite the fact that she _knew_ the Guardian had never  
seen a movie in his life, she immediately wondered if he'd pulled  
a Crocodile Dundee.

She stepped out of the bushes. "Don't you boys have anything  
better to do?" She saw sudden recognition, intertwined with trust,  
on Katharine's face and mirrored in Tom's.

The punk with the knife smiled at her. "Now that you're here  
we do."

One of his pals looked at her more uncertainly. His eyes  
widened in recognition, and he backpedaled away from her. "Oh no!  
Not you!"

"What's into you, man?"

"She's that cop. The one with the gargoyles."

Now two of the three punks looked wary. At some unseen  
signal, they both turned and ran like hell-for-leather. A rush of  
air beating through wings, a thump of a landing, and they found  
themselves face to face with Goliath, eyes blazing like twin suns.  
Switchblade made the unfortunate mistake of taking his eyes off the  
couple.

Two seconds later, he was on the ground with a sword pressed  
against his throat. "Give me one good reason not to run you  
through, sirrah!"

Switchblade made a peeping noise and passed out.

His friends made a crack when Goliath knocked their heads  
together.

Looking over the scene, Elisa said, "With you guys around, I  
could retire early."

"But then who would call them in?" asked Goliath, and it took  
her a moment to realize he'd made a joke.

"Thank you for coming to our aid," said Katharine, as she  
stepped nimbly over Switchblade to embrace Elisa.

"I coulda handled these ruffians," said Tom, sheathing his  
sword.

She patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I know you could  
have, Love, but havin' friends to help is always a blessing."

Goliath dumped the other two hooligans beside the first, then  
sketched a bow. "The honor is to serve. May I ask what brings you  
to New York? We thought the gates of Avalon were closed."

"Nay," said Tom. "Oberon's Children must stay there, for  
certain, and the Eggs, bein' His Most High Pompousness' Honor  
Guard, are supposed to be on hand, too. But we're neither fay nor  
gargoyle. Since the bairns no longer need us, we decided to go see  
the World, perhaps drop in on our Angela."

"Love, ye don't have to fib to Goliath or Elisa. They're  
family." She turned to Elisa. "We left because I wouldna stay in  
the same room as those three murderin' witches!"

So that was it. In Katharine's mind, the Three Sisters were  
solely responsible for the Magus' death. That it might have been  
a gentler form of suicide would never cross her thoughts. Or  
anyone else's, she added as she saw Goliath's understanding nod.

"We have had other dealings with the Weird Sisters. They are  
_not_ welcome among us. You are."

"It is good to see you again," said Katharine, and surprised  
them all by taking Goliath's hand.

"How did you get here?" Elisa asked.

"Our skiff is moored in the lake yonder." Elisa shuddered.  
If she never saw another skiff again ...

"If you are going to be staying, you may wish to send it back  
to Avalon." Staying.

"Um ... Goliath, as much as I hate to bring this up, we're  
going to have to ask Xanatos first. It _is_ his castle now."

Katharine looked up. "Castle?"

They didn't know. Oh, they knew about the spell, and the terms of  
it, but it probably hadn't hit them what Goliath's awakening had meant  
until just now.

"Ah ... " said Tom, uncertainly. "Perhaps we should wait here  
until ye've talked to your friend."

Katharine ignored him. "Wyvern? It's near?" Her eyes were  
wide. Elisa saw the girl she must have been a thousand years  
before, as she said softly, "Home."

Tom shot Elisa a warning glance. Something wasn't kosher.  
"My love ... "

"Thomas, we're going to see my castle."

"Yes, Love."

Elisa glanced at Goliath. If he'd seen the alarm on Tom's  
face, he wasn't acknowledging it. "Come, friends. I can't carry  
all of you, but I think we can make our way there without much  
difficulty."

As Katharine still had his hand, he gallantly led her in the  
direction of the rock outcropping he typically used for altitude in  
the park. He could fly them to Elisa's apartment, and she could  
drive them.

She fell into step with Tom a pace behind the others.

"What?" she asked quietly, as Goliath pointed a set of statues  
out to the princess.

"I do no' think taking her to the castle is a good idea."

"Why not?"

He watched his lady for several paces before he said in a low  
voice, "She's not herself." He wouldn't elaborate, forcing Elisa  
to speculate in silence.

Not herself? Not herself as in how?

Katharine laughed at something before them, and Goliath joined  
her.

_Great._

VVVVV

The car pulled to a stop in front of the building. Katharine  
looked up, and up and up.

"On top of this, you say?"

"Above the clouds," she responded. Too bad those clouds were  
covering it now. The castle was a glorious sight on a clear evening.

She pulled into her parking spot and killed the engine. She  
hoped Goliath had already reached home. This was not going to be  
easy without him there. Tom was growing antsy, watching his wife  
with great concern.

"Let's go."

The elevator was a new experience for them. Only her careful  
assurances that this was normal kept Tom from attacking the wall.  
Katharine kept her eyes open, but said nothing on the trip to the  
top.

The door slid open, depositing them just outside the Great  
Hall. Elisa said gently, "Welcome home."

Katharine put one foot in front of her, and then another, as  
if each step caused her terrible pain. She surveyed the room in  
open wonder, saw the tapestries, the decorations. Heaven only knew  
what she thought of the electric lights in place of the torches.

She placed her hand against her mouth, sank gently to her  
knees on the flagstones. Tom ran to her side.

"Love ... "

"I'm all right," she said, still taking in every detail. "How  
could I not be? I'm home."

Elisa saw Goliath at the opposite end of the room. Xanatos  
and Fox stood with him, watching.

"Your Highness," said Goliath in a grave voice, "these are  
David and Fox Xanatos. They own the castle now."

Katharine raised her head, wiped at her cheek with the back of  
her hand. Tom helped her to her feet, and remained holding her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't mean to be weeping on  
your floor."

The three crossed the room, Goliath hanging back. Xanatos  
bowed deeply before her. "Your Highness, we had the honor of  
meeting your parents. You are welcome in our home as long as you'd  
like to stay."

Katharine looked confused. "My parents?"

"We'll explain later." He glanced at his wife expectantly.

Fox said nothing at first, merely watched Katharine with a  
strange look in her eyes. "You're here," she said softly. "I  
can't believe it. You're actually here."

Katharine's confusion grew. So did Tom's obvious concern.

"Have we met?"

"No," said Fox, "but I'm glad we have now. I've read  
everything I could find about you. Meeting you is like ... " She  
paused. "I can't begin to describe it."

This was ... interesting. Elisa could really have cared less  
about Fox's enthusiasm over meeting the princess, if it weren't for  
the fact that Tom was obviously very troubled by it. Something was  
majorly amiss. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever it  
was.

A shriek of joy from across the room turned into a flurry of  
legs and wings, and Angela grabbed her foster parents in a bear  
hug. Well, maybe she'd find out later. The rest of the gargoyles  
were coming their way, albeit slower. They would want to spend  
time with the new houseguest.

For half an instant, she wondered where Owen was, then forgot  
his existence as Hudson bowed before Katharine, who pulled him from  
the bow into a hug.

They spent the better part of an hour in the antechamber to  
the Great Hall, until Katharine's distracted glances around the  
room signaled a tour was in order. Xanatos and Fox gracefully  
bowed out, Fox never taking her eyes off Katharine as they did, and  
requested Angela show off the changes that had been wrought upon  
the ancient stone.

She did so happily.

Elisa thought she should probably also disappear, but a touch  
from Goliath to her shoulder indicated he would like her company as  
Angela showed one refurbished room after another to her amazed  
parents. Tom, she recalled, had probably only been in the original  
castle a day or two as the inhabitants readied themselves for the  
trip to Kenneth's keep.

Katharine was a different story, and as they walked the halls,  
Elisa understood why she and Goliath were joining them: the  
princess needed familiarity.

She was quiet, deathly so, as they walked, though Tom's  
incessant questions disguised the gap efficiently. Only when he  
paused for breath did Elisa even realize his lady hadn't spoken a  
word since they'd left the Great Hall, instead looking around her  
in mute wonder with his hand at her arm guiding her.

They walked through the bedroom suite, where Xanatos had  
offered Elisa a room if she chose to spend the day some time. She  
hadn't yet taken him up on it.

Katharine stopped in front of a closed door, placed her hand  
against it. "This was my room when I was a girl," she said, her  
voice very small.

Angela smiled. "Why don't you go in?"

Tom's concern turned to blatant alarm. "Love, perhaps ... "

Katharine turned the latch and pushed the door open. She  
stepped out of his touch and into the room.

The room had been re-done in heavy shades of blue, elaborate  
but tasteful. Elisa couldn't say for certain whether Katharine  
even noticed, as she walked through the room to the glass-doored  
balcony. That had to be new, she thought.

She turned around. "Thank you, Captain, that will be all."

_Captain?_

Tom stepped into the room, and gingerly took her hand.  
"Katharine ... "

She pulled her hand away quickly. "Captain, do no' test ma  
patience. Now go." Her brogue had deepened, almost to the point  
of incomprehensibility. A stray wonder crossed her mind: how in  
the world had three people with Scottish accents raised thirty-six  
children without them? That was a thought for another time,  
_after_ they dealt with this one.

Tom inclined his head. "If ye'll need anything, summon me."

"Of course." He walked out of the room, and to the shock of  
the rest, closed the door.

"Guardian?" Angela was visibly frightened.

"Don't concern yourself," he reassured her. "She's just a bit  
put out by all this." Elisa may not have been raised by the man,  
but she could tell he was lying through his teeth.

"Will she be all right?"

"Certainly. In a few minutes, I'll go in and check on her."

"In the meantime," said Elisa, "Angela, will you please wait  
here in case she comes out?" Angela nodded, mystified.

Elisa tugged at Tom's arm. Goliath followed them back towards  
the Great Hall. When they were out of Angela's earshot, Elisa  
stopped.

"How long has she been like this?"

"Like what?" His eyes darted from her to Goliath and back.

"Thinking you're someone you're not, talking to people who've  
been dead for a thousand years."

"It's not bad. She's just a bit confused."

"That's not confusion, Guardian." Why wasn't Goliath helping  
her with this, instead of looking at her in confusion of his own?

"She'll be better in a few minutes."

"She doesn't know who you are."

"What of it!" His voice was quiet but fierce. "What if she  
canna remember my name? We're neither of us very young anymore.  
Of course we forget things."

Then he looked down, caught his breath. "My apologies. She and  
I have been together too long. We start sounding alike after a while."  
He explained, "She gets angry when she doesn't remember things, too.  
But she'll be all right in a little while. She always is."

"Perhaps you should check in on her," suggested Goliath, and  
Tom nodded.

"Perhaps I should." He walked back towards the room, but  
Goliath prevented Elisa from following.

"Goliath, you've got to see she's not okay."

"She will be fine," he said, and she stared at him.

"Goliath ... "

"And if she is not, we will keep an eye on her." She saw  
understanding in his eyes. He wasn't blind to it, then, nor would  
he immediately accept her diagnosis without further observation.

"All right," she replied. "Let's see if they need anything  
else."

Together, they walked back to the room, where Katharine was  
already in the hallway, holding Tom's hand.

VVVVV

"Maybe we ought to see if they need anything." Fox pulled  
away from him, and headed towards the door.

"If they do, I'm sure they'll ask. Or one of the clan will  
get whatever they require." He watched as several expressions  
warred on his wife's face, then settled into dissatisfaction as she  
reluctantly came back to where he sat.

"It's just ... She's really here."

"Yes," he said slowly, meanwhile trying to remember what  
they'd been discussing before the arrival of their new guests. Oh  
yes, she'd been telling him about the final casting call for a  
sitcom being developed for the network launch in January. "You  
were telling me about deLancie's argument with your friend Skip."

She didn't hear him. "This is too incredible. She's here.  
In our home."

"Fox."

"Yes, David?" Her eyes were on him, but her thoughts were  
visibly far away, or perhaps just a few floors from them.

"Would you like to spend some time with Katharine?"

"I wouldn't ... I can't ... I wouldn't have any idea what to  
say to her." There was something on her face, in her eyes, a kind  
of distraction. He felt her slipping from him and had no idea why  
or how, only knew that she had a sense about her of time misplaced.

He heard a rap on the doorframe, turned to see Owen standing  
there, and felt peculiarly happy to see him. At least someone in  
his world was sane tonight.

"I've made arrangements for your departure tomorrow morning,  
Madame."

"Cancel the arrangements. I'm staying in town until further  
notice." Her expression had become firm, decisive. For no reason,  
David regretted his suggestion.

"The Sloanes are expecting you," said Owen, visibly annoyed.

"Tell them I can't come. We have houseguest."

He frowned. "I was not aware of anyone's impending arrival."

David said, "They weren't expected. Angela's other parents  
have dropped by for a visit."

Owen's eyes went wide as saucers behind his glasses. "Excuse  
me?" This was intriguing.

"Princess Katharine and the Guardian. They're going to be  
staying with us for a while."

"Here?" Then he looked confused, yet another expression he'd  
never worn in public. "Just the two of them?"

"Yes and yes. Owen, is there a ... " Owen was gone. He hadn't  
vanished; he'd simply walked very briskly away. David shook his head,  
and turned back to his wife. She still wore her own odd aspect, lost in  
thought about, presumably, their new guests.

Everyone was, it seemed.

VVVVV

Owen didn't run. Running would have been unseemly, so he  
walked as fast as he could without hurrying to where he guessed they  
would be. Something was terribly out of joint within him, something to  
which he could not give a name. He had been listening to Angela's  
tales, had been drawn to them like a fly to honey. Home, yes, she  
spoke of home and more. He knew names, could almost see faces  
within his mind, although he had not known them. At the same time,  
he felt as if he were playing one of those absurd games where bits  
of the picture were shown, and from that he had to guess some  
nonsensical human expression. There were large parts of the  
picture covered, and he dared not ask for another piece.

The gargoyles on Avalon had been raised by three people. Why  
had only two come to Manhattan? He frowned, deeper than he ever  
would have dreamed doing in this guise, but now did out of recent  
habit.

His thoughts had been disjointed ever since he'd heard Angela  
sing. If his suspicions were correct, he would at last have the  
answers to questions long buried inside himself. Having that  
chance, though, he feared the answers.

His mind put together the puzzle in the most pleasing shape  
imaginable: his failure put to rights; his discovery a key to his  
triumphant return home; possibly, though he dared not think this  
last too much in case the hope push him to act too hastily,  
possibly even the renewed affection of his Lord.

His soul, less logical but far more knowledgeable on Fate's  
habit of treating him cruelly, sought out the touch of mind against  
a certain mind, a touch unknown this past millennium, and heard no  
answer to the call, save the strong unconsciousness of the sleeping  
child and the weak but definite presence of Titania's daughter.

He allowed himself expand into the city beyond the castle  
walls. He felt the paper-thin echoes of the minds of sensitives  
through the island, pretty, useless things that could Hear but  
could not Speak. He went deeper, and in the bowels of the city  
felt a familiar slumbering presence, a fay fully of the blood who  
did not yet know his own potential. Near him were two much smaller  
presences, strong for all that, and he startled. He'd known about  
the first, but the second, near to being born even as he listened,  
was something new.

"Congratulations," he mouthed, but did not send. Amazing,  
really, that for all he had once been able to do, he could no longer even  
send a simple thought to another mind, save as training for Alexander.

That would change. He would find Ian, and all would be well  
again, and he could go home.

He paused. The new guests were nearby. He could have  
determined this by the feel of the air, slightly denser for two  
more bodies, or by the slight humming of his thoughts near other  
living beings, the same way he detected electrical fields. He  
could have divined it, through some glass, or perhaps simply by  
knowing the most likely location the gargoyles would show their old  
friends.

Angela's voice, bubbly with excitement, coming from less then  
twenty feet away, was the best giveaway.

Instead of going immediately in, he hung back in the shadows,  
letting them cover his face as he watched and listened, ignoring  
the hammerbeat in his chest and the sound of destiny roaring like  
blood in his ears.

They had gone to the library. Angela was describing, badly,  
the collection of books. She had some grasp of what the various  
volumes contained, but her education for the most part had been up  
through the tenth century and had stopped. Even the rest of the  
clan, who had been there nigh onto three years, were somewhat at a  
loss as to just how much they'd missed.

"This section is about astronomy," she said, and from his  
vantage point, he saw her pull out a book carefully. One good  
thing about the gargoyles: they knew how to treat books.

"According to what I've read, this was one of the most  
controversial books ever written." She opened it up, showed a  
simple diagram of what appeared to be stars. "These are the Medici  
Stars. They're the moons of Jupiter." Her charges both looked on  
her like she'd lost her mind, as she attempted to explain the  
nature of the universe to them using very small words.

He remembered those mad days, when Galilei had pointed his  
little tube towards the sky. Never mind that the Dutch had been  
using the toys first; he'd used his in a manner no one else had  
before, nor ever would in quite the same way again. He'd met the  
fellow once at a party, had later regretted not spending more time  
learning about him; then he had been far more interested in the  
man's associate Sagredo, wondering why on earth he spoke Italian  
with a Scottish burr.

The Guardian made a comment, which Owen almost didn't hear,  
about how much the Magus would have enjoyed seeing all these books  
in one place.

Would have enjoyed, he thought. Not would enjoy, not will  
enjoy, and he floundered for a moment, grasping at his fleeing hope  
while thinking everything might still be all right. Then his  
senses, open from before, felt a deep, almost numb grief  
reverberating from inside the library, and he knew.

Quietly and with great care, not wanting them to hear him, not  
able to stand there further, he slipped deeper into the shadows and  
was away to his room. Despite the darkness, and the chill of the  
Autumn evening, he did not draw the window closed, nor did he turn  
on any form of light. He stood in the darkness, looking out upon  
the clouds below and surrounding the castle, and for a long while,  
managed to think about absolutely nothing at all.

VVVVV

Elisa waved to the security guard on duty. No matter when she  
pulled into the parking lot, it seemed he was the man on duty. She  
briefly wondered if he was, like so many of the rest of the  
castle's inhabitants, not entirely human, then disregarded the  
notion. She was seeing fairies in shadows anymore. Besides, it  
had been a few nights since her last visit; he'd probably had a  
night or two off in the interim.

She'd talked to Goliath for a while before sunrise, enough to  
know that he was fine, the clan was fine, everybody was fine, and  
that he wasn't about to tell her anything on Katharine's condition,  
other than to mention Fox had been spending an inordinate amount of  
time around her.

That disturbed her, though she didn't vocalize the thought to  
him. She had believed there to be an unspoken noninterference pact  
among the various residents of Wyvern. Hence, when she was there,  
and she assumed even when she was not, Xanatos, Fox and Owen were  
absent, or at worst, announced themselves, said or did what was  
required, and departed again.

Alexander was a more constant presence, because of the baby  
monitors and the fact that Lex enjoyed playing with the child, and  
oddly enough, so did Katharine. The last time Elisa had been to  
the castle, the baby had spent most of his waking time on the  
woman's lap, and she had been the one to put him to bed, just  
before Elisa had left. The clan did not mind his company, figuring  
he was too small to provide much danger. No one ever brought up  
the Coldstone/fire/steel incident.

Therefore, when Goliath said that one of Their group had taken  
it upon herself to start spending quality time with one of what she  
thought of as Our group, Elisa had filed it away as a concern  
without mentally red-tagging it, then turned her attention fully  
towards Goliath. They'd chatted idly, and then they'd stopped  
talking, and while he had not moved to touch her any further than  
the comfortable drape of his arm around her, she'd felt between  
them an undercurrent of change.

He'd left soon afterwards, fleeing the sun and perhaps more.

So here she was again at the Eyrie, parked in her increasingly  
usual space, wondering why she'd come. She had to work tonight, but  
not until eleven.

The elevator deposited her in its usual place, and she  
wandered, wondering where everyone had gone. "Hello?" she called,  
feeling like an idiot.

"Hi Elisa," said Brooklyn from nowhere, startling her.

"Hi Brooklyn. Where is everyone?"

"Hudson and Goliath are out on patrol." _Damn._ "Lex is  
working downstairs. Last time I checked, everyone else was in the  
living room."

"Thanks." She cursed inwardly again. So much for catching up  
with Goliath before work. "Could you tell Goliath I dropped by?"

"Sure." Something was wrong.

"Why aren't you with the others?" He looked at her, eyes  
momentarily full of pain, which he shuttered tightly away before  
she was certain she'd seen it.

"No reason. Just thought I'd get some air." The lie was  
apparent on his face, but she didn't call him on it. She had  
noticed how much time Angela was spending with Broadway lately as  
well, and while she was happy for them both, she knew what it had  
to be doing to Brooklyn's heart right then. He would no doubt  
learn to live with it, as he had learned to live with Maggie's  
obvious love for Derek. He just wouldn't enjoy it.

"Do you want some company?" she asked, thinking to be a  
shoulder if nothing else.

"Nah. I think I'd rather be alone right now. No offense."

"None taken." She watched him go up the stairs in a fair  
imitation of someone who wasn't dying from within.

A voice spoke to her in her memory as he went: "I'm used to  
being on my own." She remembered too well what had become of the  
speaker, and as Brooklyn was gone from her sight, she prayed the  
same fate would not befall him, to be forever alone among friends  
and always in sight of the one being who could make all the pain go  
away.

She went into the living room, waving half-heartedly at those  
gathered there. As she'd expected, Angela and Broadway were  
sitting together, perhaps not quite as obviously as the older,  
human couple on the couch, but still close enough to leave no  
further doubts as to who'd won the unspoken contest. The truth was  
in the ease on Angela's face as she rested beside him, and even  
though it was not the kind of unbridled yearning one saw on a movie  
screen between young lovers, the visible emotion was as clear as a  
teardrop. No wonder Brooklyn had fled.

"Elisa," nodded the Guardian in her direction. "What brings  
you here tonight?"

"Oh, just thought I'd drop in for a quick hello." She had the  
sudden feeling she'd interrupted something, though what she did not  
know. She noticed Fox, sitting close to Katharine, and her hackles  
rose in immediate and unconscious protection of the princess.

"Why don't you join us?" he asked quickly.

"Sure. Thanks. I can't stay long," she lied as she placed  
herself in one of the overstuffed chairs.

"You were telling us about the castle," Fox prompted.

"The castle?" asked Katharine vaguely. "Oh yes. My castle.  
Wyvern. Lovely place. I haven't seen it in years, though."

"We've just arrived there, Love," said the Guardian gently.

"We have?" She looked distressed, then smiled at him. "So we  
have. Silly of me." She glanced around the room, and her dark  
aspect returned. "What did they do to my castle?"

"We redecorated," said Fox.

"I liked it the way it was," said Katharine quietly, and Fox  
looked down, whether angry or embarrassed Elisa didn't know or  
care. She had little use for the current lady of the house, or for  
that matter, for the other ostensibly human members of the  
household.

"What was it like?" asked Angela, and Elisa noticed Broadway  
squeeze her hand as Tom shot her a glance.

Fox latched onto the question. "Yes, what was it like when  
you were here?" Her eagerness was almost hungry in its intensity.  
Tom's concern level shot sky-high, as Katharine turned to the other  
human woman, her eyes focused on some unnameable other place.

"Father likes ta have music." Her accent was thick again.  
"Perhaps we might have minstrels when we sup." _Father?_ Wherever  
she was, it was a safe place. Elisa, recalling the strong woman  
who'd blasted a wall down on Demona's head, ached inside as she  
began talking about her life in Wyvern as someone who still lived  
there.

"Katharine," said the Guardian, "perhaps you'd like to lie  
down for a spell before supper."

She drew away from him, distrust in her eyes. "I'll ask ye ta  
keep yer hands off me!"

"Princess," said Angela, keeping her own hands away, "would  
you like me to walk you back to your rooms?"

Katharine looked her up and down, not saying a word. Her face  
was eloquent in that respect. Angela was a gargoyle, and when  
she'd been a lass, gargoyles were not pleasant sights.

"I'll go with you, your Highness," said Elisa, before Fox could  
volunteer and possibly do more damage. She stood as gracefully as she  
could, and tried to make a bow. Katharine stared at her, then offered an  
elegant shrug that said, You'll do. She got to her feet, and with hardly a  
glance to the others, allowed Elisa to lead her out of the room.

Elisa thought she remembered where the room was that had been  
given to the couple for their stay, and walked in that direction  
slowly. Katharine was silent, until they reached the door.

She looked into her room. "What are we doing here?"

"You wanted to lie down for a little while." It wasn't exactly the  
truth but it would work.

"I did?" She sat down on the edge of the bed, still looking  
around her in some fear. Elisa wanted to leave, and knew that she  
didn't dare just yet. She sat in a chair by the dresser, her hands  
placed palms down on her legs, the least threatening position she  
could muster.

"You did. Do you know where we are?"

"Of course I know where we are. I'm not stupid. We're in my  
castle. We've come to see our Angela." She stood up again, walked  
past Elisa to the dresser, picked up a brush, and began working it  
through her hair. "She's a good girl, that one. A little testy now and  
then, but she has a fine head on her shoulders. Always learning, asking  
questions. The Magus said he could probably teach her a bit of magic  
if she wanted." She set the brush down, and her shoulders drooped  
slightly.

"I'm sorry," Elisa said, thinking it was the only thing to say.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You grow old, new things  
replace you, and life moves on. That's how the world works."

She watched the woman, standing by the mirror, touching her  
hair as if fixing it, but really just staring. She felt awful, and  
at the same time, felt she had to say something that had plagued  
her for nearly a year. She stood, and moved beside Katharine in  
the mirror.

"He was in love with you."

"I know," she said. "I always knew."

"You _knew_? But then ... I mean, why ... "

"I wondered that, for a long time." Her face went far away  
again, and Elisa feared for a second she'd sent the princess back  
to the other place.

"It seemed like a perfect thing, he and I. But he was so shy. I  
could tell he wanted to say it, just didn't know the way, and didn't think  
he even had the right. And I was raised not to say such things. So we  
neither of us spoke, and time went on, and after a while, I fell in love,  
and it was no longer a perfect thing, nor anything at all." There was no  
regret on her face, only a passing sadness, and Elisa reminded herself  
she ought to visit Jason soon. "That's one bit of advice I'll tell you,  
dear. When you see something you want, grab onto it with both hands,  
and don't let it go from you."

Elisa nodded, her thoughts no longer on Jason.

"Princess Katharine?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask a personal question?" After her last outburst, it  
seemed almost silly to ask, but it was impossible to proceed  
otherwise.

"Ask."

She swallowed. "Do you ever regret not having children of  
your own?"

Katharine looked at her in utter confusion. "What do you  
mean?" Damn. She was gone again. Then, as if she'd heard Elisa's  
thought and meant to contradict it, she added, "I have thirty-six  
children. I don't need any more than that, thank you."

"That's not what I meant."

Katharine turned to her, and in what was possibly the last  
moment Elisa would ever see her completely rational, she said, "I  
know. And I know why you're asking. And that is the only answer  
I can give you." She moved past her and sat down on the bed again.  
"Now, if you'll be so kind, I would like to catch a bit of sleep  
before supper."

"Of course," she mumbled, and making certain the woman would  
be all right, she closed the door behind her.

The Guardian waited at the end of the hallway, and looked up  
when she exited the room. "How is she?"

"She's going to get some rest." She paused. "Guardian. Tom.  
Tell me you see what's happening to her."

He watched the even glow of an electric light across the hall,  
perhaps blocking out the truth for one last time. Then: "The first  
time I really noticed was about two years ago, our time. Ariadne  
brought her some tea, and she didn't recognize her. A few minutes  
later, she was fine, and she apologized to the lass. But I'd seen.

"Since then, she's had occasional fits of not knowing who  
she's talking to, thinking we're other folks, and so on. She'll  
spend the better part of an hour calling me Captain, something I  
find disturbing, myself." He shuddered. "When she comes back, she  
gets mad at herself for not remembering, and sometimes she's mad at  
me for not bein' who she thought I was."

Elisa let out a slow breath. "She seemed fine when we were on  
Avalon. That wasn't long ago."

"You were only there a few hours. Besides," he added, "before  
your first trip, she wasn't nearly as bad." He offered a small  
shrug. "Before, when she got confused, the Magus would usually be  
able to bring her back to us. She'd known him her whole life, you  
see. No matter when or where she thought she was, he was there,  
and he was incredibly patient with her."

"But he died," she said.

He nodded. "And now she's not quite sure who is who. I  
imagine she'll have no trouble wi' Goliath and Hudson, maybe just  
a little wi' the others here. Or maybe bein' around them in this  
place will be the last thing to take her out of reality. When we  
left Avalon, I'd kinda hoped bein' someplace new might be good for  
her. Then the damned island brought us here."

"Where you need to be."

Tom turned on her, a little more bitterness in his voice than  
he probably intended. "I don't see how we're needed here! The  
only thing I see is that the longer we stay, the more I'm gonna  
lose her to things she sees that aren't even there!"

Elisa placed a comforting hand at his shoulder. "Maybe Avalon  
sent you here so we could help."

"Help what?" he asked. "Unless this new world is even stranger  
than I first thought, you canna stop someone from growin' old."

"No," she said with regret. She remembered her mother's father,  
who'd been one of the biggest, strongest people in her childhood  
memories. As she'd grown up, he'd grown smaller somehow, and like  
Katharine, had become confused. The last time she'd seen him, he'd  
been uncertain of who she and Derek were. He'd been polite to them,  
but he'd been very upset at their mother for some reason, and had  
shouted at her until they'd left.

"I'm sorry," Tom said. "It's hard to stand by and watch her  
slip away, knowing there's nothing in the world I can do to stop  
it. I don't like bein' helpless."

Elisa longed to offer him some kind of hope, or at least  
consolation, but there was none. He was right. Katharine was  
growing old, and there was nothing to stop that.

"I should go see her. She'll wonder where I've gone." He  
inclined his head to her, and meandered towards their room. Elisa  
wondered what kind of reception he would have. Would his wife know  
who he was? Would she shout at him and make him leave the room?  
Elisa tried to imagine watching the love of her own life falling  
away from her that way, piece by piece. She shivered in the  
breezeless passage, and resolved to go by the roof one last time  
before she left the castle. Just in case.

As she hurried along her path, she nearly plowed into Xanatos.  
He smiled at her charmingly, and she, remembering Fox's performance  
earlier, scowled back.

"What do you two think you're doing to Katharine?" she said in a  
low voice. She hadn't been aware until just then how mad she was.

"Detective, what are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean. Every time she's back in the real  
world, Fox asks her something else and sets her off again. I don't  
know what game you're playing, but leave her out of it. She's been  
through enough."

"I assure you, we're not playing any games, with Princess  
Katharine or anyone else." His eyes were open, honest. She didn't  
buy it for an instant.

"Whatever," she said, and brushed past him. She had to get to  
work. She didn't look back, nor did she see him stare after her  
thoughtfully after she was gone.

VVVVV

Fox was already in bed when he reached their room. Her  
reading light was on, and her nose stuck in a book on medieval  
history. She didn't look up when he entered.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked her, as he placed his  
jacket on a padded hanger and hung it on his bureau. He noticed a  
stain on the sleeve, made a mental note to have Owen take it to the  
dry cleaner in the morning, then made another note to ask Owen why  
he'd been absent most of the evening.

"Not long," she said, turning the page. "Did you know Malcolm  
the First had this castle built as his summer home?"

"Yes, I did." She still didn't look up from the book. With  
a sigh and a useless curse against medieval historians, he put on  
his pajamas. While occasionally Fox's bedtime reading meant new  
opportunities for ah, role-playing, more often it meant he'd fall  
asleep with her lamp lighting his back. They'd been living  
together for over a year, and as he often had over that time, he  
wondered what might happen if the light bulb burned out before he  
was fully asleep.

"Darling," he asked casually, "how much time did you spend  
with our guests this evening?"

"A few hours," she said absently. "Why?"

"Curiosity. Detective Maza passed me in the hall on her way  
out, and made it sound like you'd been with them all night."

She set the book in her lap. "Your point being?"

"None. As I said, it was simply curiosity." He slid under  
the covers, kissed her on the forehead, and rolled over.

He didn't feel her pick up the book again. "You don't like me  
spending time with them."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. Just not in those words."

He rolled back to face her. She stared at him. Hard.

"How much time _did_ you spend with them?"

"I told you. A few hours."

He had to tread very lightly now. "And how much of that time  
did you spend asking Katharine questions about the castle?"

She looked down at her book. "I just wanted to know things."

"I understand," he said, which was something he'd learned long  
before he'd met Ms. Janine Renard as a Very Good Thing To Say when  
he had no clue what was happening. "But Katharine isn't well."

"She's fine!" snapped Fox.

"No, she's not. She's very confused as to when it is. Asking  
her questions about the past won't help her."

"I'm not trying to hurt her, David. I just need to find out  
about ... " She fumbled, "Things."

"What kind of things?"

"Just things. Like what this place was like when she was here  
the first time. And things that happened here."

"Why?"

"Because. Just because." She played with the binding of the  
book, while he watched her. Something was askew inside her,  
something she wasn't telling him.

"Fox."

"They were just dreams. That's all." She looked back at him,  
daring him to say something about it. He didn't. Her gaze  
softened. "I'll stay away from her, if that's what you want."

"Whatever you think is best," he said. "Maybe you should take  
a break, leave town for a day or two." He hoped very much she  
didn't take him the wrong way. Her eyes said she didn't. "We  
could both go upstate for a weekend, leave Alex with Owen." He  
gave her his best smile. "Might be fun."

"Might be," she answered. "I _should_ go out of town for a  
few. Owen tracked down Hyena's mother for me. I should pay her a  
visit, tell her about the baby." She met his eyes again, looking  
for what? Approval? Forgiveness? Neither was her usual wont, and  
the expression made him uneasy. Nothing had been normal in his  
life since the gargoyles had arrived. Perhaps if Fox took a few  
days to herself, she at least might come back the way she had been  
before them.

"Sounds like a good idea," he said, and without an objection  
from her, he took the book from her lap and placed it on her night  
stand. Still leaning across her, he turned off her lamp. Then she  
drew him against her body, and they both forgot about medieval  
history completely.

VVVVV

Angela's head shot up as she heard her father enter the living  
room. For no reason, she felt flushed. She hadn't done anything  
wrong, she reasoned. She had simply been listening as Broadway  
read more to her from the latest book they were sharing. She'd  
barely touched him all night, so Father and Hudson certainly  
weren't interrupting something. Why did her face feel hot, then?

"Hello, Father," she said. "Elisa was here looking for you  
earlier."

She watched his attention perk, and was amused as he attempted  
to ask her very nonchalantly, "Did she say anything?"

"She had to go in to work at eleven," said Broadway, the book  
on his lap, his fingers making scratching movements, in  
anticipation of picking it up once more. Her father's face fell.

"Where are the other lads?" asked Hudson, parking himself in  
his favorite chair. Bronx looked up from his comfortable position  
on the floor, and was rewarded by a scratch.

"Lex is working tonight. Brooklyn," she looked around,  
suddenly noticing his absence, "went outside for some air, but  
that's been a while ago."

"Perhaps he went for a glide," suggested her father, but it  
was apparent he wasn't thinking about Brooklyn just then.

"Perhaps," she echoed. She wasn't too worried about him yet;  
Brooklyn was a grown gargoyle and could take care of himself. At  
the same time, she felt somehow responsible for his recent  
moodiness, whether or not he had an equal hand in it. A brief  
sadness went through her for her friend, that she could not be what  
he wanted. Then she glanced over at her reading companion, eager  
to return to the land of Narnia with her, and she knew that her  
life had chosen its course for her.

Their exploration of the mystery surrounding Owen had yielded  
no new leads in the past few days. In fact, since the Guardian and  
Princess Katharine had come to visit, he'd been avoiding them all,  
even so far as to walk the other direction should they find  
themselves in the same passageway with him. The mystery deepened,  
and confused her, simultaneously enticing her to learn more. For  
the time being, though, she would sit and listen to Broadway's  
voice, and she would be content.

VVVVV


	2. Chapter 2

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Two: Hill and Home (2/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1997, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

Fox had left that morning, and David had spent most of the day  
trying not to notice her absence. He'd at first pretended she was  
out shopping, and when that didn't do, he changed the fantasy to a  
shopping trip in L.A. He'd felt better, then, but not much.

Something was eating at his family, something strange,  
revolving around the visitors, and he didn't like it one bit. He  
went over what he knew in his head, and found a disturbing lack of  
information.

Fox had been mildly obsessed with Princess Katharine since  
long before her arrival. He recalled a long succession of books on  
her night stand, a haphazard pile on the large oak table in the  
library. Her working pile. She'd never been able to fully explain  
why she'd wanted to know so much about the previous lady of the  
castle, only that she did. Having her under the same roof was to  
her the equivalent of an Egyptologist given the chance to have tea  
with Tutankhamen.

Owen was a different problem. He was distracted, pensive, and  
more since the gargoyles had moved home. Whether they served as a  
reminder of his banishment, or irked him for reasons he wasn't  
sharing, he wasn't himself. Since Katharine and Tom had come to  
stay, he'd been so much not himself that David had wondered if he  
had changed characters without notifying anyone. He'd been living  
almost exclusively in his quarters since their arrival, had come  
out only under near-direct order, and had grumbled about it when he  
did. At the last minute before she'd left, Fox had asked him to  
take some documents to Hyena for her signature, and while he hadn't  
exploded, he'd teetered precariously at the edge of rage before  
he'd finally calmed. He wasn't acting like Owen. He wasn't acting  
like Puck. He wasn't acting like anyone David had ever seen.

With an internal shake of his head, he reluctantly returned  
his attention to the people in his office. The heads of his R&D  
groups had been gathered together for a special purpose. He had  
already put his best researchers on the problem, and they had shown  
him promising enough results to warrant his allocating more  
resources to them. This little meeting was to inform everyone.

FitzMartin, looking very nervous, continued with his briefing,  
oblivious to the fact that his employer wasn't listening. He was  
a good scientist, but a miserable presenter. It was a wonder he'd  
ever gotten any grants before coming to work for XE. His partner  
was equally as mousy when it came to public speaking; David had no  
questions as to why the other man had ducked out of this meeting.

The doctor finished his talk, then fielded questions from the  
rest of those present, at least those paying attention. Owen,  
sitting in his typical place at David's left, was visibly bored,  
and barely covered a yawn as FitzMartin went back to a slide by  
request. David frowned in his direction, but didn't catch his  
notice. Dammit, his assistant could at least stay awake. This was  
an important project, and no one knew how important more than the  
two of them.

The meeting dispersed shortly afterwards. The heads grumbled  
out, a few complaining of impossibilities, thinking he couldn't  
hear them as they did. FitzMartin stayed behind a moment,  
collecting his slides. Owen started playing with some papers  
before him, stock reports for Gen-U-Tech. They'd been going over  
them before the meeting. Satisfied that Owen wouldn't disappear on  
him soon, he approached FitzMartin.

"Good work, Henry," he said encouragingly.

"No it wasn't," said the other man, "but thank you, sir. Do  
you think they understood what I was talking about?"

"If they didn't, they will soon. This is going to be our main  
project until further notice, and you and Daniel are in charge of it."

The man stared at him. "Us? But I thought ... "

"You. I can't think of anyone closer to the project, other than  
Sevarius." He frowned, noticed a matching, even deeper scowl on  
FitzMartin's face at the mention of the other doctor's name, before  
banishing thoughts of Anton from his mind for the time being. Spilled  
milk and all that. "You'll be certain to tell Daniel?"

"Yes. I mean, of course I will, sir. Thank you, sir!" He  
shook his hand, then pulled back, wondering if he'd presumed too  
much. David smirked at him, letting him know he had, but that he  
didn't mind. Then he turned away, not wanting particularly to  
watch the man gather his things and scurry out.

He waited until he heard the door close, then leaned casually  
against the wall. "Spill it."

Owen looked at him, mystified. "Spill what?"

"Whatever's eating at you."

Owen returned to his perusal of the stock reports. "I have no  
idea what you're talking about."

All right, he had known this wasn't going to be _too_ easy.  
He grabbed the report from Owen's hand and set the papers on his  
desk. The flash of fury on the other man's face, quickly replaced  
by calm surprise, gave him all the information he needed.

"Yes, you do. Something is bothering you, so badly that  
you're slipping. You forget things. You _never_ used to forget  
your work. You're snapping at people for no reason."

"I'm only human." The joke had sharp edges.

"You're rude. Not only to me and the rest of our happy little  
family, but to our business contacts. I've had to field complaints  
from Mason and Martens again."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize my performance was suffering.  
You may rest assured this will not happen again." He stood,  
obviously ready to end the conversation.

"That's not good enough. I don't like it when my employees  
have personal problems that affect their judgement. You know  
company policy as well as or better than I do. Employees who  
demonstrate erratic behavior or mental imbalance will be sent to  
a staff psychologist for evaluation and possible treatment." He  
had already pictured trying to explain his friend's unique brand of  
multiple personality disorder to a psychologist, and recognized  
that he would be the one carted away rather than Owen. However, if  
that's what it took ...

"You wouldn't."

"If it meant the difference between keeping you around or  
watching you destroy yourself, you sure as hell bet I would. Did  
you think I wouldn't notice?" Defiance blazed again in the  
normally placid blue eyes. He had to change tactics if this was  
going to work. In a milder tone he asked, "Is it Angela? Or  
Katharine?"

To any other observer, Owen's face would have remained as  
impassive as the castle stones. To eyes long accustomed to seeking  
his smallest reaction, usually in vain, there was a flinch that  
spoke volumes. "Tell me." It wasn't an order. It was a plea to  
his best friend. _Don't shut me out._

"It's that obvious?" He nodded, eliciting a rueful smile from the  
other man. "It's not really Angela, though I half-suspect she's doing it  
purposefully."

"You miss your home."

He hesitated. "Yes, I suppose that's part of it, too."

"Then what?"

A deep breath. "When Oberon came for Alexander, I knew there  
was no way I could face him. My powers, when I had them, could  
never have beaten him. I planned to sit out the fight, and beg for  
my life when he'd beaten the rest of you and taken the child  
anyway. So I left."

"But you came back. When it mattered, you stood with us. The  
others know that."

"It didn't matter. I could have sat on the towers eating  
popcorn for all the good I did. Titania intended for Alexander to  
stay in the World from the start. I knew that as soon as Fox put  
on that display of hers. Nothing I said or did made one iota of  
difference because the Queen had already decided what was to be."

"It mattered to me. I know what you gave up for our sake. So  
does Fox."

He was met with bitterness, no longer hidden. "I didn't do it  
for you or Fox. Or even Alexander."

That was unexpected. He spread his hands. "All right, so you  
had your own reasons. That doesn't change the fact that you fought  
on our side. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

Owen looked suddenly bewildered, an expression he'd never  
thought he'd see on the man's face. It was followed by something  
he didn't think possible.

Owen laughed, without the faintest trace of mirth. He'd heard  
the same sound only once before.

He had been seventeen, working on his father's boat. One of  
Maine's impossibly sudden summer storms had risen, tossing the  
Aurora on the waves like a leaf in a gutter. One of the men,  
who'd been given the unfortunate name of Clint and was thus known  
to all as Dirty Harry, had fallen overboard. While the rest of the  
crew had frantically tried to save the boat, a much younger David  
Xanatos had scrambled to find a rope to throw to him. When the  
other man had caught it, he'd tugged with all his strength. The  
rope snapped. For an instant, Harry had looked at the limp rope in  
his hands, and then he'd thrown back his head and laughed with the  
madness of knowing he was about to die. He'd slipped beneath the  
waves, still laughing.

Now he was faced with the same desperate, mad laughter coming  
from someone who meant more to him than almost anyone in the  
world. His stomach curled into a cold, tight ball.

When Owen could finally catch his breath, he looked over, the  
near-insanity still shining bright in his eyes. "Guilty? You have  
no idea. None!" He stood, paced around the room, not making eye  
contact. David stood back, telling himself this was for the best,  
and let him talk.

"In a thousand years, you think I could get it right, don't you? Find  
one path and stick to it. Be loyal to the immortal, all-powerful Oberon,  
or to a few ephemeral humans who think themselves gods because they  
have Internet access? The choice should be simple even for a gargoyle.  
But no, the Puck must always dance on the edge of the laws, hemming  
and hawing until the last possible moment. Disobey Oberon, stand  
against his wishes just this once, and lose your powers, your home, very  
likely your life. Obey him, let him do it again, and lose whatever hope  
you might still have for a soul."

"He did this before, to another child?" His mind flashed through a  
hundred comments made through the past several months, and then  
through words never spoken, silences fluttering around an explanation  
that had no name until now.

"Not quite." He stopped his pacing, leaned against the desk,  
stared out into some other lifetime. The only thing about him that  
was still Owen was the face; the spirit behind was purely Puck, as  
he'd never known him. Stripped of his powers, his glamour, and  
even the sharp wit with which he'd defended himself for the gods  
only knew how long, the being before him now was very small, very  
alone, and sad beyond the words of mortals to express.

"In that play, he stole away a little changeling boy. In  
reality, he stole two. To make an exceptionally long story  
painfully short, I had the chance many years ago to save one of  
them when he decided to send it back to the World. I chose the  
easier path, obeyed my Lord, said nothing as I did my job and left  
the baby. After the Diaspora, I went looking for him, and missed  
him by two days. When Oberon returned for Alexander, I tried to  
stay silent again, and all I could think of was the first child I  
betrayed, and how he'd cried when I left him. And even though it  
was useless, even though I was as much a threat to Oberon as a  
raindrop might have been, and even after he'd taken away everything  
from me, I was content, because for the first time in a thousand  
years, the other babe's cries were silenced.

"And then Angela comes to live with us, telling stories of her  
home, her family, and then they come to visit, but wait, only two  
of them come, and remember that child you missed by two days? This  
time, you missed by a week."

He did the math in his head. A week on Avalon was nearly six  
months out in the real world. Six months before the Gathering ...

"That's when Goliath and Elisa first went to Avalon. The  
Archmage was attacking the Island. He was the baby?"

"Hardly. That one was mortal, though very powerful as mortals  
go. He was probably a descendent of one of our kind. I can only  
imagine his delight when he found one of Oberon's own to use as he  
pleased. Apprentice? Hah. If Ian had any idea of his own  
potential, he might have taught that old demon a thing or two  
himself."

"Ian? The Magus."

"_Ian_," he replied. "That's what I named him."

"You named ... " This was more than he'd anticipated. Well,  
in for a penny. "Start from the beginning."

"That would involve explaining over ten thousand years of  
history. We'd miss dinner."

"Just give me the high points."

"Oberon wanted a son. Titania refused to bear one. No fairy  
woman would do it, fearing her wrath, so he went among the mortals,  
and ... " He paused, then continued. "When he brought Ian home,  
the Queen was enraged, for good reason. I took care of him while  
they quarreled. After a week of arguing bitterly, they reached an  
agreement. Ian would be sent back to his mother."

He glanced at David. "You do recall how put out you were when  
Oberon planned to take your child after a few hours? I had mine  
for seven days. It was the most wonderful week of my life, and  
then Oberon summoned me and said I had to send away the first being  
I'd ever loved. I was also ... put out. And alone. The Three  
wanted him dead. None of the others would have stood with me, not  
for a halfling babe who had caused such terrible fighting between  
the King and Queen. I had no one to ask for help, and I was afraid  
to confront Oberon by myself.

"I took him back, but she was already months dead by her own  
hand. I could have stayed with him, might even have brought him  
back to Avalon. I wasn't brave enough, strong enough. I left him.  
After we were sent out, Oberon had me run an errand. When I was on  
my own, I went to look for Ian.

"No one knew where he'd gone, only that two days before he'd  
slipped away in the night with two ladies of the court, a serving  
woman and her son, and a clutch of gargoyle eggs. I searched and  
searched, and after a century, I gave him up for dead."

David thought about this momentarily. "Why wasn't he banished  
from Avalon with the rest of you?"

"He was raised mortal. The Diaspora, like the Gathering, only  
bound those who knew what they were. That's why Fox wasn't called  
to the Gathering."

He wanted to ask more, ask why the Puck had been so obsessed  
with finding one child, Oberon's son or not, but his friend's face,  
haunted now in remembrance, stilled the words before he could speak  
them.

"Owen," he said, although he was no longer certain that was the  
proper name to call him, "I'm sorry. He obviously meant a great deal to  
you."

"Ian was the closest I will probably ever come to having a child of  
my own. Alexander means the world to me, and even before his birth, I  
started thinking of him as perhaps a way for me to make amends for last  
time. I thought Ian was nine centuries in his grave, not a few days." He  
swallowed. "Angela said he died fighting the Three. They killed him.  
He was their brother and they struck him down without caring and I  
wasn't there to stop them."

David tried to reconcile his mental picture of three little  
girls with overlarge blue eyes to the image of three bloodthirsty  
murderers. Oberon's daughters? Probably Titania's as well, which  
made them Fox's half-sisters. The family tree was getting more  
confusing by the minute.

"Can you contact Oberon? If you tell him what happened ... "

"It doesn't matter!" he snapped. "Ian is dead. There's nothing that  
will bring him back. The Three will inherit the throne, and the worlds  
move ever onward."

"Is there anything you can do about it?"

"No!" Owen was near the breaking point, his good hand drawn  
into a tight fist to match his left.

"Then let it go," he said quietly. "Before it destroys you.  
'Things without all remedy should be without regard.'"

Owen stared at him, jaw clenched, his body taut and quivering  
like a guitar string, ready to snap at the touch of a pick. Then, as if an  
unseen hand had fingered the tuning key just so, he loosened. "'What's  
done is done.'"

He nodded. His friend changed visibly before him. The nervous,  
edgy air he'd worn since the arrival of the gargoyles faded from sight,  
leaving only the man he'd known these past several years: calm,  
unflappable.

"I'll let it go," he said, and the last traces of the stranger were gone  
from him.

"Good. Now, about those reports ... "

VVVVV

Fox felt Harvey's reassuring presence behind her as they  
ascended the gloomy stairway. She liked Harvey, had liked him for  
years. He was the kind of no-nonsense guy who made excellent  
stuntmen, and effective employees. He rarely asked questions, took  
orders well, and he could fight, almost at the level she had been  
before Alex. Harvey was good people.

She wasn't so sure about the couple she'd come to meet. She  
was making an effort to not make assumptions based on the building  
itself, with its cheerless crumbling brick exterior and faded  
yellow wallpaper which might have been gingham at one point. The  
interior was mostly clean, and if the sunlight coming through the  
window at the end of the hallway was less than dazzling, well, it  
was October. This time last year, she'd been spending her nights  
as a werewolf. On the whole, she preferred things as they were.

She stopped in front of the door. 4-C. Owen had said they  
would be expecting her. She took a breath and knocked. The door  
opened, was caught by a chain. A woman's pinched face looked at  
her through the crack.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Sloane?" A nod. "I'm Fox Xanatos. I believe you spoke  
to my assistant on the phone?" Another nod, slower. The door shut  
all the way, and Fox stepped back, confused. She heard the chain  
being slid out of its groove, heard its scrape as it swung against  
the wooden frame, and the door opened all the way.

"Won't you come in?"

"Thank you," she said, and entered the apartment, Harvey two  
steps behind her. At Mrs. Sloane's fearful expression she said,  
"This is my associate, Harvey Muldrake." Harvey smiled winningly  
but did not extend his hand. Probably a good idea.

"A pleasure," the woman said automatically.

Fox glanced around the room, trying not to let her distaste  
show. The place had obviously been furnished in the "Let's Go  
Olive!" seventies, and had seen only the occasional foray into the  
past two decades since. A large, plaid couch dominated what passed  
for the living room, with an almost-matching lounge chair beside  
the television. The dining room, which was really just a space on  
the shag carpet right before the kitchen nook, held a Formica-  
covered table with a set of cheap vinyl and metal chairs. There  
was a smell, underlying everything, of old cigarettes and windows  
rarely opened.

She tried to remember if she'd ever seen her former associates  
smoking, decided she had not, and recalled a night on assignment in  
Panama, when Wolf, in a rare fit of generosity, had offered a round  
of joints to the whole gang. She'd taken one, in fond tribute to her  
delightfully misspent youth. Dingo had declined, but then, he also  
never drank anything stronger than spring water. She had been  
pretty sure Hyena was about to take one, but Jackal had given her  
a Look, the most intense Fox had ever seen from him, and she'd  
passed. Fox hadn't paid the incident much attention, and had  
mostly forgotten it until this moment.

So this was where Jackal and Hyena had grown up.

Victoria Fraser Phillips Sloane stood in her living room,  
gestured to the couch. Fox sat down, Harvey remained standing.  
After a moment, the other woman sat in the lounge chair. Fox  
cleared her throat.

"I'm not certain how much Mr. Burnett told you. First of all,  
Hannah," she tried the name on her tongue, found it didn't fit  
quite right, "is in prison."

"That doesn't surprise me." She sounded, and looked, very  
tired. Fox examined her face, looking for traces of her children  
in it. Yes, there it was, hidden under years. She had the same  
elfin chin her daughter did, and while her eyes were fatigued and  
lined, she was certain they once had the same sparkle she  
remembered from both her children when they were on the hunt. "Is  
Jack there, too?"

"We don't know where he is. He's wanted by the police." The  
woman nodded; if she were going to cry for what her children had  
become, she had done so long before. Fox had thought to mention  
the charges and found them needless. For whatever reason, their  
mother had already long ago accepted what would happen. She would  
not come to New York, either to protest the charges, or simply to  
visit her daughter. Fox had been forced to tell her own parents  
not to interfere, just to keep them from meddling further with her  
life.

She had one last thing with which to crack the woman's  
impassive facade. "The reason I'm here is because your daughter  
contacted me a few weeks ago. We used to work together," she  
hedged. The word "friend" implied a closeness she'd never felt  
with any of the Pack except Dingo. "She's pregnant. She's due in  
January."

She looked for some sign of shock, of emotion, of anything  
from Mrs. Sloane. Instead, she read only more tiredness. "Again?"

_Again?_ "She's had another child?" That was a new twist on  
things. She'd never once mentioned a baby, until last month.

"No." The finality in her voice precluded any further  
questions on the subject. "Do you know who the father is?"

"I don't. I imagine she does, but she hasn't told me." _And  
I'm not sharing any speculations, either._ "She knows prison is no  
place for a baby. She wants to sign custody over to me. After  
that, we'll hand the child to you."

"Why?" There was honest confusion in her voice.

"The baby should be with family. You're her next of kin,  
other than Jackal. Jack," she amended. She still read a lack of  
comprehension on the woman's face. "My husband and I will be happy  
take care of all the medical costs, even after he's born." She'd  
had Owen run a projection of those costs as a worst-case scenario  
including severe mental and physical disabilities. Considering  
what they could expect, the worst case was not as remote a  
possibility as she wanted to believe, but even if it came true, it  
would be an insignificant expense.

"Mrs. Xanatos," she said, as if explaining a simple fact to a  
small child, "I haven't seen Hannah since she was eighteen. She  
moved to Los Angeles to live with Jack. They wrote me four letters  
after that, and called me about half a dozen times. The last time  
Hannah called me, she was in rehab and wanted me to call the  
hospital and get her released. I'd already talked to Jack about  
it. He'd been the one to commit her. I told her no, and she hung  
up, and I haven't heard from her since."

The face her own mother had worn for most of Fox's life was  
briefly before her, her pretty eyes saddened. She hadn't come to  
the arraignment after that mishap with Goliath and Lexington, but  
she surely saw it on t.v. What had she felt? Astonishment? Grief?  
Disappointment at what her mortal child had become? Or had she the  
same expression this woman did, which was none of the above, simply  
acknowledgment that this was to be her lot in life and no more?

But in this case, Fox had been the one to give the order,  
hadn't she. She'd been the one to show the photos David had given  
her, and she'd been the one to goad the rest into action, to order  
this woman's children to attempt to assassinate her lover. They  
might still have ended up in prison, for various things, but as  
Hyena had pointed out to her, the step that had led them there the  
first time had been paved by Fox. Whatever David reasoned with her  
otherwise, this was the truth.

Yet more proof as to why the kid needed to be as far away from her  
as possible.

"Mrs. Sloane," she said, "I'm sorry about your children. I didn't  
talk much with my parents when I got out on my own, and now I'm  
wondering if that was a very big mistake. This baby doesn't have to be  
like that, though. You can give him a home, and then maybe ... "

"Maybe things will work out okay and we'll all live happily  
ever after?" asked the woman. "What world are you living in?" Her  
flash of anger passed. "We'll take the baby. Jerry will say we're  
just mopping up another one of Hannah's mistakes. I don't suppose  
it matters much either way."

Relief filled her. The Sloanes would take the child. She and  
David could provide whatever monetary support they needed, and her  
infant conscience would be satisfied. All was well.

She glanced around the room one last time as she stood. There  
were no windows in the living room; she assumed there would be some  
in the bedrooms beyond. It was dark, and slightly claustrophobic,  
but she was certain there was room for a playpen in one corner.

She wasn't sure if Mrs. Sloane worked. If she did, and her  
husband did, they would need a babysitter. Maybe some brighter  
decorations, too, rather than the chintzy pictures that failed to  
add color to the place. She noticed one photograph above the  
television, of Mrs. Sloane and presumably her husband. She didn't  
spy any pictures of Jackal or Hyena, and that bothered her. Her  
father had a number of pictures of her at various ages in his  
office, and while her mother had played at being human she'd kept  
at least one photograph of the three of them with her at whatever  
lab she called home, even after the divorce.

Another little voice nagged at her, speculating that perhaps  
this wasn't the best thing for the child after all.

"I'll have Mr. Burnett work up the details, then. We have  
some time before the baby is born, but we'll probably contact you  
within the next few weeks to make preliminary arrangements."

"All right," said Mrs. Sloane. She didn't really seem  
interested. The little voice inside her grew louder. She told the  
voice to can it. The woman stood and saw them to the door.

Harvey nodded his head in a friendly manner and ducked  
outside; Fox stayed a moment longer. "If you'd like to contact  
your daughter, she's in Arkham Asylum. They have better medical  
facilities than Riker's," she explained.

"Thank you, but she and I have nothing to discuss." The  
reality behind the words was reflected in her gaze: although she'd  
given birth twice, this woman truly had no children.

Fox was going to shake her hand, but suddenly, she didn't want  
to. She wanted to leave. Now.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Sloane," she said. The door closed behind  
her. In a moment, she heard the woman scrabbling for the chain,  
and felt the finality of its jangle as she slid it back into place.

VVVVV

Elisa hadn't been certain why she'd invited Matt along with her to  
the castle on their night off. It wasn't like he didn't have other things to  
do. Although, she admitted as they got into the elevator together, she  
wasn't sure she wanted to know what those things were.

He would probably have spent the evening poring over decades-  
old clues, trying to piece together yet another unofficial investigation.  
He'd been tight-lipped about the Illuminati for a long time; she often  
wondered if he didn't trust her anymore, or if he was protecting her  
from Things Better Left Unknown.

More likely, Matt was just being weird again.

They talked about nothing much on the way up, both lost in  
thought behind their words. He asked about her family. She told  
him what she could, without giving anything else about Derek's  
location away to whatever hidden microphones Xanatos had installed  
in the elevator shaft.

She'd gotten a call from Beth earlier that evening, and it was  
bothering her. A lot. "Matt," she asked him suddenly, "you didn't  
happen to drop by my folks' house when my sister was in town, did  
you?"

He looked at her, mystified. "No," he said slowly. "Should  
I have?"

She shook her head. "No. Just wondering." She didn't think  
it had been Matt anyway.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her, a rare and almost sweet  
concern on his face.

"Not with me," she said, and didn't say anything else. The  
elevator drew to a stop and opened its doors. There was music  
coming from the direction of the library, vocal music. That was  
very ... peculiar.

She glanced at Matt. He raised his eyebrow. Together, they  
edged their way towards the sound. Xanatos stood by the door,  
looking but not entering. He waved them over.

The clan, including the two oldest humans considered to be so,  
had gathered together in the room, but they weren't alone. Macbeth  
had also come to visit (damn, there was a reunion she wished she  
could have witnessed --- while the last time Tom and Katharine had  
seen him, he'd been attacking their home under the spell of the  
Weird Sisters, he was also probably Katharine's only surviving  
kinsman). And the biggest surprise of all ...

King Arthur was sitting with them, quite at home. No wonder  
they'd abandoned the living room. No sign of Griff, er _Sir_  
Griff, but he was probably nearby.

"Arthur and Griff came just before sunrise," said Xanatos in  
a low tone. "Macbeth dropped in this afternoon. They've been in  
here since the gargoyles woke. Griff's in my office, calling  
London." There was an odd smile about his lips. When she and Matt  
went to enter the room, his arm blocked the way.

"Wait."

Impatiently, she tried to get past him. Then the music started  
again.

There was no instrumentation, merely the sound of voices  
mingled, most low, two a shade higher. She didn't know the lyrics;  
hell, she could only make a guess at the language they were  
speaking. It had to be some early Gaelic dialect, although she  
wasn't sure which one. It didn't matter. The song itself was a  
light thing, probably some love song from ages past. They all  
seemed to know it, and as they sang, it became a living thing  
between them.

In a low whisper, Xanatos said, "Not one person in that room  
is under a thousand years old."

Was that envy in his voice? Commanding the anger out of her  
own, she said, "Macbeth lost his family and has been attempting  
suicide for nearly nine hundred years. Princess Katharine is  
losing her mind, and when she's gone, it'll pretty much destroy  
Tom. Arthur was betrayed by his son and is the only person from  
his era. I don't need to tell you what Goliath and the other  
gargoyles have been through." She fixed him with a glare. "Which  
one do you want to be?"

Ignoring the shock on his face, she walked past him and into  
the room, where the song was ending. Matt followed her in, not  
saying a word.

Goliath looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back.

Arthur, ever the gentleman, rose as she entered the room. "A  
sight for sore eyes," he said, and clasped her hand. "It is good  
to see you again, Elisa."

"Likewise," she responded. "Your Majesty, I'd like to  
introduce my partner, Matthew Bluestone. Matt, meet Arthur  
Pendragon."

Matt stood there, his mouth open, then he stuck out his hand.  
"Nice to meet you. Sir. Your Majesty. Hi." Arthur shook his  
hand generously, and was kind enough to not smile at Matt's utter  
loss of his wits.

Elisa watched Matt's mouth tremble, and said sweetly to him:  
"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"One line from Monty Python and you're leaving the castle the  
hard way."

"Okay." His mouth quirked more, and she knew he was biting  
back line after line of John Cleese.

Elisa settled into a convenient crook of Goliath's arm, glanced  
around again, then asked him quietly, "Where's Fox?"

"Out of the city for a while." There was neither happiness  
nor sorrow in his tone, merely a reporting of fact. Elisa felt a  
great weight lift from her, made even lighter when she watched  
Katharine. She was the only one who knew to whom she thought she  
was speaking, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

The little group started on another song, in some variation of  
English, although she didn't know the words or the tune. She  
reconciled herself to simply listening, and feeling the deep tones  
vibrate from Goliath directly into her. Matt pulled up a chair,  
straddled it, and sat with his arms folded on the back, watching  
everything in semi-awed silence.

At one point, she noticed both Arthur and Macbeth fixing Tom  
with near matching stares of pity. Written clearly on both faces  
was the knowledge of what he was about to go through, met with the  
painful awareness that nothing could be done to prevent it. Then  
Griff came back into the room, and their attention turned back to  
the music.

The songs ended after a time, and the talk began. As before,  
Elisa and Matt, and Griff as well, remained quiet while the rest  
fell into stories of what once was and could no longer be. She  
heard regrets, though not painful ones, not anymore, merely sadness  
at what had passed. As she had many times before, she heard the  
tales of what had occurred at Wyvern, the betrayal, the massacre,  
and the flight of the three keepers of the Eggs. Macbeth picked up  
with the history of afterwards, Constantine's eventual deposal, the  
return of Katharine's family to the throne, the continued struggles  
before his own reign, and after it.

The stories were a tapestry of lives, woven together by slender,  
perhaps immortal fingers. Macbeth was aware, finally, of how much  
his own life had been shaped by the machinations of the Three Sisters,  
and while there was some lingering bitterness towards them and  
Demona in his words, it was not harsh.

Arthur's tales did not dwell upon the distant past. He and  
Griff regaled the group with stories of their adventures thus far  
in searching for Merlin. They had spent some time in Russia, and  
more in Australia. They hadn't run into Dingo, but Arthur had  
heard rumors of a vigilante hero, covered all in silver, who  
matched his description.

They had returned to New York, they said, to gather allies.  
While the quest was going as quests did, Arthur felt he would be  
more effective with more knights. To her surprise, he immediately  
offered Macbeth a place beside him, and to her greater surprise, he  
turned him down. Brooklyn filled her in quickly: this had happened  
before, while she and Goliath and Angela had been gone.

Then he asked Matt.

Matt stared.

"Me?"

"Certainly. Elisa says you are her equal in skill, and she is  
a fine warrior." She mumbled her thanks, blushing, while the Trio  
and Hudson stared at her. "Also, you know the ways of the new  
time. While Griff and I," he nodded companionably towards his  
friend, "are capable of watching out for ourselves, we know little  
of this world in which we travel. What say you?"

"ummmm... Can I think about it?" There was a slightly dazed  
look on his face. Elisa hid her grin.

"For as long as you please," responded Arthur, and rather than  
extend his invitation to anyone else, he moved on to a retelling of  
their latest adventure, in Peru.

While Griff described the village at the top of the mountain,  
Matt leaned over to her. "What just happened?"

"King Arthur invited you to go questing with him."

Matt nodded. "That's what I thought happened." He moved back  
into his original position, and didn't say another word the entire  
night.

At about two a.m., common sense overtook curiosity, and with  
reluctance, she bid good-bye to the others. She wished Arthur and  
Griff speed in their upcoming journey, to begin shortly after  
sundown. Arthur repeated his offer to Matt, and then she steered  
him out, fully intending to drop him off at his apartment, go back  
to her own, and catch a little shut-eye.

Which is precisely what she did.

VVVVV

Fox had recently seen a preview for a movie in which the main  
character, an angel, had claimed to have invented standing in line.  
If the same angel had been the sadistic mind behind the concept of  
board meetings, she was going to personally hunt down John Travolta  
and hurt him.

Still, the business had to be kept running so that she and  
David could pursue their more interesting hobbies; the more money  
Xanatos Enterprises pulled in, the more likely they were to achieve  
their plans of world domination. She held back a giggle as she  
glanced at Owen and willed him to say "Zort." Nope. Wasn't going  
to happen. Ah well. He seemed to be in a better mood today, if  
nothing else.

She herself was feeling much better. She and Harvey had come  
home early that morning, and despite her minor jetlag, she felt  
alive and ready to go, and she'd told David so. Getting out of  
town had been just the ticket. She refused to think about the  
dreams she'd written down in her little notebook. They were silly,  
and besides, they'd stopped after Alex's birth. It was high time  
she forgot them and moved onto important things, like today's  
meeting.

Coleman, one of the too many accountants in attendance at this  
particular conference, continued what he probably considered a  
fascinating treatise on the current market value of some of the  
various companies under the XE umbrella. She focused on his words  
long enough to determine that he was saying absolutely nothing of  
interest to her; as long as the values kept going up, she was  
perfectly content. She was more concerned with the proposed  
filming schedules for the new lineup from Pack Media Studios, which  
they were about to branch into a network.

From all angles, it looked like they could easily beat UPN and  
the WB in ratings, and give her namesake network a good run for its  
money. The problem lay in getting film in the can; their anchor  
show, a science fiction series David had overseen personally, was  
going through growing pains. Specifically, the lead actress packed  
her bags and moved back to Europe, leaving them in a bind. She was  
attending this meeting to see what could be done about delaying  
filming without sending the studio into the red. Also, before they  
became a network, they really needed a new name, as the current  
acronym didn't quite put across the image they wanted.

Her mind drifted back to Owen, sitting stiffly in his own seat  
the way he did when they discussed finance, or the weather, or  
Alexander's toys. Never did he make a move to betray himself, not  
a glance, not a twist of mouth, and now that he and David had  
spoken, even the cross look was gone, to be replaced by something  
she couldn't identify, something almost ...

Coleman finished his spiel, bringing her back to reality. To  
her immense relief, the meeting was recessed so they could have  
lunch. In response to the thought of food, her stomach gurgled,  
and she covered it quickly. Yes, food was good, and then it was  
time to feed Alex so Mrs. Ong could set him down for his afternoon  
nap.

She stood with the rest, watched as they filed out towards  
their own offices, turned back towards David to see if he'd rather  
they eat in his office or go up to the dining room.

Firley, one of the token studio executives present, said, "Mr.  
Xanatos, may I have a word with you?" just as Mrs. Ong appeared in  
the doorway with an armful of Alexander.

David glanced at her. "I'll give Alex his lunch now," she  
said. "When you're ready, I'll have Nicole make something for us."  
He nodded, and turned expectantly towards Firley, while Owen  
gathered his paperwork from the table.

Fox left the door ajar, and paused half a moment in curiosity.  
What did Firley want to ask David that couldn't have been asked of  
her instead? Alex saw her and squirmed in the nanny's clutches,  
and she turned her attention towards him again in glee tempered  
with trepidation.

"There's my good boy," she cooed. He fastened his arms around  
her neck. Good sign, she thought as she gingerly pulled him from  
Amy to herself. She shifted him around so he wasn't quite so heavy  
on her shoulders, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when  
neither of them spontaneously combusted.

One determined little fist went into her hair, and then directly into  
his mouth. "Does that taste good? Mommy used the botanical  
shampoo this morning. Can you say botanical?"

Alex gurgled something that might have been "botanical,"  
"refrigerator," or "Bill of Rights," but probably was another  
attempt at "Mama." She nuzzled his nose. "When Daddy comes out,  
tell him you want to be a biologist." Alex must've thought that  
was the funniest thing he ever heard, because he squeal-gurgled.

Then his bright face went utterly blank, just before he let  
out a yowl of pain.

Distress raced through her. What had she done wrong? She  
could see nothing visibly awry with him, and a quick sniff  
indicated a clean diaper. Was he hungry? No, this wasn't his  
"Feed me _now_" scream. This was his "I hurt I hurt I hurt I hurt  
fix it please mommy" scream, and it ate into her guts because she  
could see nothing to fix.

Her guts. Her guts were on fire. Terror, inspired by belated  
but warming instinct, thrust Alex into his nurse's arms before she  
could register what was happening, and propelled her back into the  
Board Room.

Firley, eyes gone totally, horribly green, had a dripping knife drawn  
back, ready to bury it deep into David, who was crouched ready to  
spring. Owen lay crumpled on the floor; from the too-large stain  
spreading from beneath him, the knife had just been pulled out of his  
body.

Fox ascertained all this in an instant, then screamed her  
loudest "Kee-yop!" Firley's head whipped partway around, and David  
took the moment to launch himself directly into his attacker,  
bringing his fist into the man's face with enough force to shatter  
most of his bottom teeth. Firley, feeling nothing, pulled the  
knife in, ready to thrust it into his back. Without even thinking,  
Fox executed a flying kick, knocking the knife far out of his  
range, and snapping his wrist neatly. He roared and flipped David  
off him. Wrist hanging, jaw slack, he faced her.

And stopped dead.

Looking _very_ confused, he stuttered, "Wha what?"

He didn't have time to ask anything else, because David  
snarled and threw him down again. This time, Firley didn't fight  
as David knocked him senseless, and only when Fox physically pulled  
him off did he stop.

David panted, adrenaline obviously still well in control of  
him. She could sympathize; with her current endorphin rush, she  
was ready to take on ten more Firleys, or else tear off David's  
suit and have him on the table. Neither was an option right now.

She knelt by Owen, felt for a pulse. After a frantic search,  
she found a thready beat at his neck. "Amy!" she yelled, then  
cursed. Amy Ong's English vocabulary still mainly consisted of  
"No," "Stop," "Bottle," and "Ceiling." Not useful in calling an  
ambulance. "David ... "

He already had his cell phone out and was dialing. She  
looked around madly for something to staunch Owen's wound, then  
pulled off her blazer. She waited for the XE medics to arrive and  
make it all better, willing Owen to live with the repeating  
thought, "Please don't die please don't die please don't die."

VVVVV

Chavez glared at her as she handed Elisa the file. "I should  
have my head examined for letting you do this."

"Can I help it they won't talk to anyone else?" she replied,  
probably too fast. She stifled a yawn. Three-thirty in the  
afternoon was not her idea of a proper time to be at work,  
especially when she'd only had two hours of sleep that morning.  
The Captain's equally lousy mood echoed her sentiments.

"Just get their statements, and inform them someone else has  
to handle the investigation. If they want, I'll put Bluestone on it."

Elisa pondered the notion of letting Matt loose on this  
particular case. "I'll mention it." She escaped via the newly-  
installed door, and paused, collecting her thoughts. When she felt  
ready, or at least better suited to what lay before her, she walked  
purposefully towards Interrogation Room B.

McKenzie and Tan waited, less than patient expressions on  
their tired faces. Xanatos stood leaning against the wall, his  
arms crossed; Fox sat with her hands primly folded on the table.  
Her head came up as Elisa walked into the room, and she smiled  
half-heartedly.

"Detective," said Xanatos, nodding.

"Elisa," said McKenzie, keeping watch on the pair, "we can  
stay if you want."

Fox turned her gaze to the other officer. "You make it sound  
like we're the criminals."

McKenzie's eyes gave all the response he needed. Elisa said  
quickly, "That won't be necessary. Unless you think I can't take  
a statement."

The door opened again. Matt, unshaven and hair mussed,  
hurried into the room. "Sorry I'm late."

McKenzie, with a last spiteful glance at the couple, pushed  
past Matt out the door. A moment later, Tan followed him. Elisa  
indicated her partner. "Do you mind if he stays?"

"That depends," Xanatos said. "How much does he know?"

"I know enough," said Matt hotly.

Elisa touched his arm. "Matt, maybe it would be better if you  
let me handle this."

He started to say something, then stopped himself, scowled at  
his partner, and asked, "What haven't you told me this time? More  
mythical people? Aliens, maybe?"

"Actually," said Fox, "we're harboring Bigfoot in our pantry.  
He's been giving Broadway cooking tips."

Matt grumbled something under his breath. "Elisa ... "

"I'll tell you what I can when we're finished. Promise."

He sighed, saw the amusement in Xanatos' eyes, and stalked out,  
pulling the door closed behind him. Perfect. Now Matt was mad at  
her. Because of even more secrets that weren't hers to tell. _Yes, Matt,  
the stiff guy in the suit moonlights as a thousands-year-old imp with  
long pointy ears and bad fashion sense._ She'd woken up less than an  
hour before, and already her head hurt.

"All right," she said to no one in particular. She turned on  
the room's recorder. "Now tell me everything you can about what  
happened."

Fox reached out and turned the recorder off again.

"No recordings." Damn. She'd been afraid of that. She sat  
down, put the notebook in front of her but left it closed.

"Start."

Xanatos sat down beside Fox, then began to speak.

" ... when she stepped out of the room, he reached into his  
briefcase and pulled out the knife. Owen was closer to him, and  
blocked the first thrust with his left fist. He got in a good shot  
to the midsection, but it didn't even phase Firley. Before either  
of us could do anything, he'd pulled the knife back from the parry,  
and ... " He took a breath. "And then he stabbed Owen. He  
twisted it and pulled it out, and then he turned towards me. Fox  
ran into the room, and we managed to disarm him. But he kept  
coming, like he didn't feel any pain. We finally subdued him."

Elisa glanced at her file. "According to the attending  
physician, his wrist is broken, his jaw fractured, and he's still  
unconscious. I'd hardly call that subduing."

"Nothing stopped him," said Fox. Then she paused. "Although  
it seemed like he stopped fighting after a while."

Elisa couldn't stop herself. "Head wounds can do that to you."

"I'm serious." There was no trace of humor in either of them  
now, and she regretted her quip. Their friend was in surgery, and  
the prognosis wasn't good. At all. She'd seen the preliminary  
reports; she privately didn't expect him to live through the night,  
and she wasn't sure how that made her feel. Their shock, carefully  
masked but visible to eyes well-accustomed to reading those  
inconstant faces, told her they knew it as well. If Owen died, and  
the Puck with him, Alex would no longer have a teacher. And then  
his step-grandfather would return for him.

"Can you think of any reason why Mr. Firley would want to kill  
you?"

Xanatos shook his head. "Ralph has always been an excellent  
employee." He glanced at his wife. "We don't believe he was behind  
this."

Elisa blinked. "He came after you with a knife and you don't  
think he's behind it?"

"That's why we needed to talk to you. During the fight, his  
eyes were green. Fay green."

She sighed. "Your in-laws." Both nodded. "Why would they  
want to kill you?"

"I don't know," he said. "But it makes sense. Firley did  
stop fighting, the moment he saw Fox. Whoever it was didn't want  
her to be hurt. It has to be them."

Elisa sat back. If what he said was true, it did make sense.  
But it didn't fit right inside of her. Why would Titania want her  
son-in-law killed? She was smart enough to know it wouldn't win  
her ground in regaining her daughter's trust. Oberon, then? He  
had no particular reason to want Xanatos dead, and besides, from  
what she'd gathered concerning his last appearance in Manhattan,  
subtlety wasn't among his strong attributes. Or even in his  
vocabulary. Perhaps one of the other Children had found a way  
around Oberon's decree, Coyote maybe, still angry at his capture,  
or Anubis, at his.

She heard the door open, turned to see Matt again.

"What is it?" she asked, hoping he hadn't heard too much.

"We just got a call from the Eyrie Building." He twisted his  
mouth. "Burnett's out of surgery. He's still under, but the  
doctor on the phone said he thinks he'll pull through." She didn't  
miss the relief washing over Xanatos' face. "Thought I'd let you  
know. Elisa, while you're questioning them, you might want to ask  
why they didn't send him to the hospital."

"You should know the answer to that, Detective. I already  
have some of the finest medical minds in the world on my payroll."  
Matt snorted, and pulled the door shut again. Xanatos continued,  
in a lower voice, "Fortunately. There's no way I could have  
explained to an outside surgeon that operating with stainless steel  
could kill the patient."

Stainless ... Oh, right. Because of the trace iron, like in her gun.

"Can you think of _anyone_ else who would want to kill you who  
can use magic? I can't exactly show up on Avalon with a warrant."

"There's always Demona. Whether she wants me dead or not, she  
has the ability."

"And she wouldn't mind getting rid of Owen, either," added Fox.

Elisa considered it. "His death would probably free her from  
the spell that turns her human. But she'd need a specific reason  
to kill you." She shook her head. "Besides, the spell she'd use  
for mind control was destroyed. I destroyed it." It had been an  
artifact, yes, an ancient spell out of the Grimorum, but Goliath  
was still technically under it, and as long as it existed, there  
was a chance Demona would figure out a way around their solution.

"We'll keep her on the list of possible suspects," she decided  
aloud. "Who else?"

"Macbeth has the ability," said Fox. "And he _was_ in the  
castle last night."

Xanatos shook his head. "It would be against his code of  
honor. Besides, I think we're all on the same side this week."

Elisa had to agree, and she couldn't think of any other non-  
fay with means, motive and opportunity. Dammit. "Demona it is,  
for our chief suspect. Is there anything else you want to tell  
me?"

"Nothing that can be put on the record."

"All right. Then our next move is to ask Owen if he knows  
anything about it. If Firley was under a spell, he might be able  
to figure out who cast it."

They stood, Xanatos lending a hand to Fox despite the fact  
that she obviously didn't need it. Not for the first time, Elisa  
marveled at his treatment of her. In dealings both personal and  
commercial, David Xanatos was the single most ruthless person of  
any species she'd ever met. When it came to his family, and she  
was beginning to sense Owen qualified under that term, he was  
concerned, compassionate, even tender. As the days and weeks went  
by, she was having increasing difficulty maintaining her cherished  
view of him, as a creature only slightly less diabolical than the  
Antichrist. She'd come to warily respect him. On occasion, she  
almost found herself ... liking him.

She cast off the thought. Derek had trusted Xanatos. That he had  
been betrayed by him twice was a crime she could never forgive of the  
man. She didn't care if he spent the rest of his days working as a poor  
monk in India with Mother Theresa; he'd hurt her brother. Eventually,  
he would pay for it.

As she passed Matt in the hallway, heading out to her car, he  
touched her arm, held her there. "Where're you off to?"

"Guess." He let her go, a small scowl distorting his otherwise  
handsome features.

"It's a few hours before sundown. If they give you any trouble ... "

" ... then things will be back to normal and I'll deal with it. I'll be  
all right, Matt. They need me."

"And they don't want me there." He expelled a breath, looked  
pointedly behind her where she imagined Fox and Xanatos waited.  
"Elisa."

She didn't want to get into this with him, not with them  
there. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Fine." He turned the other direction and walked off. Was  
that a twinge of jealousy she'd picked up from him? Just what she  
needed to make her day complete, and it wasn't even four-fifteen.

"I'll meet you there," she said with more force than she'd  
intended. It would look _really_ bad if she took the limo back  
with them. Besides, hellish rush hour traffic or not, a drive by  
herself with the radio on High was really what she needed right  
now.

VVVVV


	3. Chapter 3

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Two: Hill and Home (3/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1997, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

Half an hour later, Elisa was regretting her decision to drive  
herself. However, stuck squarely between an apple-green Jag and a  
schoolbus, she really didn't have any options just then. Four of  
the five stations she'd programmed into her radio were running  
commercials. The fifth, an NPR affiliate, played music from the  
baroque period, interspersed with commentary by a very earnest  
gentleman who tried to explain why the movements of a certain piece  
were meant to represent the construction of a cathedral in Southern  
Italy. After five minutes of that, Elisa had in desperation tuned  
to a country and western station, survived half of a Garth Brooks  
song, and admitting defeat, turned off the thing completely.

This left her with silence, her own thoughts, and the occasional  
honk.

Someone, presumably a magic user, tried to off Xanatos and  
missed. She rolled the thought around in her brain, Xanatos having  
rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. Who had a  
motive? Who didn't? Fox would become an exceptionally rich young  
widow. Renard would be rid of the son-in-law he despised, and  
possibly gain influence over Alexander. Ditto for Titania, and she  
had the ability. Even she herself had a motive: vengeance for Derek.

Demona ... Demona didn't have any particular reason to want  
Xanatos dead. Then again, that hadn't stopped her before. He was  
a human, and no longer an ally. That was enough for her. Hell,  
she'd almost wiped out the human race a few weeks back.

So why wasn't the puzzle piecing together right?

Traffic inched forward, and seeing an opportunity, Elisa  
squeezed the Fairlane into a spot in the adjoining lane. Five  
blocks to go before she reached the Eyrie. The limousine was  
nowhere in sight. Rich people even had their own private routes,  
away from rush hour.

She wondered who was driving the car. Last time she'd  
checked, Owen acted as chauffeur, not to mention household  
majordomo, nanny, and who knew what else. He probably even wiped  
Xanatos' nose when he sneezed. She banished that mental image  
quickly, but retained the thought: without Owen, Xanatos would be  
like a lost puppy.

As she crept along the street, her mind wandered aimlessly on  
the images. Lost puppy. Lost sheep. Black sheep. With a little  
iron bell around his neck.

"Damn." The word escaped her lips as both a curse and a  
blessing. She almost missed seeing the light change to red before  
her, and slammed on her brakes.

Firley had been after Owen.

VVVVV

"What?" Fox said it, but the same question was clearly  
written on Xanatos' face. She'd arrived five minutes after them,  
had spent another ten searching for the right place in the building  
before she'd asked someone, and all the while, she'd turned around  
her insight in her mind, and found it to fit too well.

"Think about it. Of the people who want you dead, of the  
magic users, who among them would stoop to using a knife, when a  
gun would be less personally hazardous, and a lot less traceable as  
evidence? To use a knife, you have to be right there. I'll bet  
you Avalon that knife had a lot more unprocessed iron than normal.  
Whoever sent him went after you to cover going after Owen."

"That leaves us with the same list of suspects."

"Does it? Your mother set things up carefully to get Puck to  
stay here. I don't think Oberon has caught on as to just how well  
yet. He might have done it, but it's not his style. And there's  
still Demona."

Xanatos mused, "Demona's tricky, but she's not subtle. If  
she'd wanted him, she would have attacked him directly."

"Maybe she thought it would keep him from defending himself  
with magic," suggested his wife.

He replied, "He's not allowed. He can defend Alex but not  
himself."

"She might not have known that."

"Mr. Xanatos?" A short woman in scrubs approached them at a  
diffident pace.

"Yes, Doctor?" Again, Elisa heard the concern in his tone and  
found it disconcerting.

"Mr. Burnett is resting, but he is awake."

"May we see him?"

She nodded. "But only for a few minutes."

"Thank you," he said, and it was for far more than the few  
minutes of visitation. She inclined her head again, then continued  
down the hall.

"Detective, if you'd care to join us."

Elisa walked behind them as they made their way to the room,  
glancing around from time to time, wondering just how complete the  
medical facilities were in the building. Alexander had been born  
at home, as she recalled, and now major surgery had been performed  
on the premises, probably with silver instruments. Must be nice to  
be rich, she thought.

The door was ajar. Before they entered, Elisa heard the too-  
familiar beep and hum of monitoring equipment. During her last  
hospital stay, she'd become aware of it, then annoyed by it, and  
finally, she'd learned to ignore the sound completely. Her recent  
visits to Jason had brought back many memories of those mercifully  
few days. As did this.

He lay very still on the crisp white sheets, only the gentle  
whoosh of the oxygen flow indicating that he was most likely  
breathing. Always almost inhumanly pale, his skin seemed bleached,  
making Elisa wonder how much blood he'd lost, and if they'd been  
able to replace it, and with whose. His eyes were closed, and  
without the glasses, she could almost make out the faint blue blood  
vessels in his eyelids. He could have been a life-sized china  
doll. She could just see the tape on his chest beneath his  
hospital gown. The doll had been broken, and the dollmaker was  
very far away.

His eyes slid open, revealing sky-blue irises, and Elisa could  
not rid herself of the notion that they'd been painted.

"Hello?" he said, his voice cracked and dry.

"Hey," said Xanatos, going to the bedside, resting his arms  
uncomfortably on the metal railing. "How are you feeling?"

"Wretched. Did you get the license number?"

"Yes," he said, bemused. He lost his smile and looked back at  
her as he said, "We're practically certain Firley was sent to kill you."

Owen's face was almost entirely innocent as he asked slowly, "Who  
would want to kill me?" He paused. "Excluding the people we live  
with, of course." Fox moved to the other side of the bed, stood there in  
silence.

"Our best guess is Demona. Other than the obvious, can you  
think of any reason why she'd want to kill you?"

He tried to shake his head, and finding it difficult with the  
greenish oxygen tubes attached, said, "No."

"Who else might have done it?" asked Elisa.

"Anyone. No one." His eyes were unfocused. The doctor had  
likely put him on some heavy drugs; he was slipping back into  
sleep.

Xanatos asked, "Is there some way to find out from Firley  
himself? Maybe we can find out who cast the spell." Owen's eyes  
closed. "Owen?"

"I can. Deconstruct. Lesson for the boy." His eyes opened  
briefly and closed again.

There was a tap at the doorframe. The doctor said, "You need  
to leave now. I'll contact you when he's fully awake."

"Keep me informed of any changes in his condition, Doctor,"  
said Xanatos in an authoritative voice. He followed Elisa out of  
the room. Fox didn't join them. Elisa looked back, saw her still  
standing by the bed, staring down at Owen's sleeping form.  
"Darling?"

"I'm coming," she said, and hurried out of the room. Elisa  
didn't ask.

"Detective," said Xanatos, "I doubt we're going to get any  
answers until after he's awake. If you'd like to get some rest,  
you're welcome to stay here. We have room."

At the suggestion of sleep, she yawned, and glared at him for  
making her. She would have liked to have gone back to her  
apartment for a few winks, then come back here, say hi to Goliath,  
and go on duty. On the other hand, if she crashed in one of the  
many rooms at the castle, she would have more sleep, get to spend a  
few more minutes with Goliath, and she wouldn't have to drive  
through the tangled mess outside to get home.

"Just this once," she said, swearing to herself it would be a  
one-time deal. The half-smirk on his face, indicating it might  
not, almost made her change her mind.

Hell with it. She needed sleep.

They went upstairs.

VVVVV

With little convincing, Angela coaxed Broadway out for a  
flight very shortly after their awakening, shortly enough that she  
did not hear the news about Owen until much later. They had made  
a pretense of patrolling Queens for the better part of an hour  
together, before she noticed his attention wasn't on hunting down  
criminals. Her own hadn't been on the streets below since they'd  
started.

She thought, belatedly, it was a good thing no one had been  
gargoyle-hunting that night. They wouldn't have realized what was  
going on until they were both dead.

Memories, not entirely her own, had been picking at her mind  
for the past several nights. During the day, she'd dreamed strange  
dreams. At first, she'd thought they were of Gabriel, and felt the  
customary remorse at not giving him any regard in her waking  
thoughts. Then she remembered other things, and realized she had  
not been dreaming of Gabriel, but of Coldstone, or rather the  
gargoyle whose soul now inhabited the cyborg body. In her dreams,  
both daily and nightly, he was young, alive, without the harsh  
metal that deadened his senses. She was reliving the memories  
Coldfire had while her spirit had dwelled within Angela's body for  
one bittersweet night. It was an odd sensation.

There was more, though, and the more was what bothered her,  
drew her from their home this evening. She was having memories of  
things to come.

They weren't visions, precisely, only half-formed images  
created out of the amalgam of her limited experiences. She and her  
rookery siblings had been aware that there were places and times  
when they should not disturb the Guardian and the Princess. As far  
as she knew, no one had ever said directly why, but that had been  
the way of things.

When they'd grown, started developing from amorphous little  
hatchlings into the variegated shapes and colors of adulthood,  
their well-meaning caretakers had attempted to explain to them what  
was happening. Only now, thinking back on those times, did Angela  
note with fond amusement that perhaps their three parents hadn't  
been quite the experts that their children had thought them on the  
subject.

The images disturbing her now bore little resemblance to the  
sketchy descriptions Princess Katharine had blushingly related to  
her sixteen young daughters, although her presence reminded Angela  
strongly of those fumbling words. Her thoughts were closer to the  
thoughts Coldfire had flirted with during her brief stay, and it  
did not help Angela at all to note Coldfire had been thinking those  
things towards Broadway, who'd been housing Coldstone's long-  
troubled spirit at the time.

There were other, deeper things, though. When she engaged in  
battle, her muscles moved by training, but also by a kind of inner  
need. Her wings and claws echoed maneuvers done by her parents,  
and presumably, her grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on  
back to the beginning of time. Instinct made her duck before a  
blow, swish out her tail in just the right place to send an enemy  
sprawling. What practice made perfect, her own nature made  
possible. Tonight, she felt the hum within her of instinct, though  
not the fire that guided her in attack. This was older than  
battle, possibly as old as war itself, which according to the books  
in the castle library, began the day the first microscopic organism  
looked at its neighboring organism and ate it.

She was neither hungry nor thirsty. The need within her was  
different, not quite as old, but close enough to make no matter.

She indicated a comfortable roost they both knew well: an  
office building in midtown Manhattan, not nearly as impressive as  
the Eyrie Building or the Cyberbiotics Tower. Compared to those  
giants, it was squat, ugly, built in a time of functionality rather  
than grace. On the other hand, sandwiched as it was between far  
more beautiful edifices, they rarely noticed it in their patrols. In the  
midst of a teeming city whose heartbeat was a roar even at the wee  
hours of the morning, it was a wonderful seclusion.

They descended.

For a long time, they hung over the ledge together, looking  
down upon the streets like guardian angels at their invisible  
watch. The lights below gradually lost their charm, the way all  
simple lights, no matter how twinkling, eventually did. Away from  
the ledge, the other buildings stretched high enough around them to  
block out most of the hazy brilliance from the street.

The same stars that had dispassionately observed her parents  
from their lofty heights a thousand years ago shone brightly over  
the two of them on their rooftop.

They yielded to instinct.

VVVVV

Alex giggled as Fox placed him into Owen's arms, and she felt  
a twinge of jealousy. He'd been fussy for her all night, but for  
Owen, he was filled with smiles. Not that she envied the man's  
position at the moment, she thought. He'd been moved into his own  
room to complete his recovery, which meant that his normally  
pristine quarters were filled with medical equipment, and worse,  
people. On the other hand, this was probably the first vacation  
he'd taken since coming to work for David. She'd seen a leather-  
bound volume of the Iliad on his night stand, had noticed the  
elegant tassel on the bookmark edging closer to the end every time  
she'd come into the room. It kept him occupied, she supposed, and  
from dwelling on things.

As he held Alex on his lap, she noted that he was looking much  
better than he had the past two days. His color, such as it was,  
had returned, and even if he was still very weak, he was acting  
more and more like his old self. Alex made a grab for his glasses,  
which Owen thwarted. He placed the spectacles back where they  
belonged in a comfortingly fastidious manner; Fox knew better than  
to smile.

"Where is Mr. Firley?" he asked.

"On his way." If she had her timing right, Elisa had told her  
boss about an hour ago that they would not be pressing charges  
against the man. Chavez would have hit the ceiling, come down off  
of it, roundly cursed Fox, David, Owen, and all their descendants,  
and finally, allowed Elisa to take Ralph home. In this case, that  
meant driving him directly to the Eyrie.

"Ah," he said, returning his attention to the baby. As ever,  
he barely smiled at him, spoke hardly at all, and adamantly refused  
to make cute faces while talking nonsense. He would hold Alex on  
his lap while reading aloud stock reports or sonnets by Donne, and  
Alex loved it. He would sit listening alertly, sometimes tugging  
on a short handful of gold hair, or sucking on his own fist.

Alex also adored Lex. Especially his ears. For Katharine,  
who'd watched him while she and David were busy with Owen, he was  
an absolute angel, and would stay in her arms perfectly still as  
she spoke to him or read to him or simply sat in silence as they  
rocked in his chair, thinking whatever kinds of thoughts either of  
them had right now.

Oh yes, Alex _loved_ Katharine and Tom and Lex and Elisa and  
Owen and Daddy most of all.

When Fox tried to play with him, her son squirmed and fidgeted  
and no matter what she did, after about ten minutes, he would start  
to cry and not stop, often for hours. If David took him from her  
during one of those times, he'd calm down instantly.

She was not going to cry about this.

"I'll be back," she said, and walked out of Owen's room before  
she lost control of her emotions. She doubted Alex noticed as she  
left.

The sun hadn't gone down yet; the statues on the roof were  
still statues. David was waiting for Elisa down on the ground  
floor, ready to escort the man who'd tried to kill him back into  
the presence of the man who'd almost died instead. Tom and  
Katharine had gone for a walk in the pleasant cool of the late  
afternoon. She was alone in her castle, but for the two in Owen's  
room, and they were nothing like her at all.

She walked into the Great Hall, and stopped dead in the center  
of it. Her eyes closed, she tried to recapture the feeling she had  
when Katharine spoke of times long since gone. Things were better  
then, simpler, safer. Maybe that was why Katharine lived in the  
past. She couldn't be hurt there.

Fox had visited that past once, seen the people who populated  
the stories the gargoyles told. She'd been a little over a month  
along with Alexander and hadn't known it, but the dreams had  
started shortly afterwards. By the time she was in month four,  
they'd haunted her almost nightly, interspersed with the most  
bizarre nightmares. She'd read up on everything she could find out  
about pregnancy, had learned that odd dreams came with the  
territory, and still she scribbled notes when she woke at night  
seeing faces of people she'd never met. The dreams had stopped  
after Alex's birth and had been replaced with nightmares about her  
stepfather. Those had also faded away after a few weeks, leaving  
her with more normal dreams, which she rarely remembered.

She had promised David she would leave Katharine alone, not  
ask about the strange things that once ran rampant through her own  
sleeping mind. She could keep her promise, although it meant  
losing her chance at discovering ... What?

She paused, and for a mad second, she heard music from a lute  
being played somewhere very far away, and everything was almost  
clear to her. Then it was gone, and maybe it had never been there  
at all.

The elevator slid to a stop. She pulled her attention from  
unretrievable fantasies to the reality of the door opening before her.  
Firley stepped out, quite chagrined to be in David's presence; Elisa  
came behind, unhappily involved in this whole mess.

"Are they ready?" asked David.

"Probably." She met Firley's eyes, before he dropped his and  
looked at the floor. There was no malice in them, no murderous  
intent, only the contrite gaze of a man who for no reason known to  
him had tried to impale his employer with a butcher knife.

They walked silently to Owen's room. Owen was nowhere to be  
seen. This probably had something to do with the five-foot-tall,  
white-haired elf sitting cross-legged two feet above the bed and  
tickling her son.

"You're looking better," observed David.

"It's amazing what changing bodies can do for you," replied Puck.

Firley stared. "Who ... What ... ?"

"One question at a time, my boy. I am the Puck, lately chief  
servant and confidant of His Majesty Oberon, King of Avalon, now  
head diaper changer and paycheck signer in the employ of David  
Xanatos. I, and this handsome young lad here, are members of the  
First Race," he smirked, "which to you means that we are elves,  
goblins, things that go bump in the night, and generally, people  
you don't want to annoy. And you," he said, zipping over to the  
still-shocked man, nearly close enough to brush noses with him,  
"aren't going to remember a word of this when we're through."

Firley's paralysis broke, as he fell back and tried to move to  
the door. David's hand on his arm, digging in, convinced him he  
ought to stay. He stammered, "You said ... said we would find out  
why I ... why I tried to ... " He couldn't finish.

" ... air-condition my ribcage?" supplied Puck. Firley  
nodded, his eyes wide.

Realization kicked in, lit over his face like a new morning.  
"_Your_ ribcage?" Puck grinned. Firley let out a little sigh, and  
tilted his head.

"Maybe you should sit down," suggested David. Firley did so,  
kept staring at the figure before him in utter incomprehension.

For his part, Puck edged closer and closer, slowly. "Are you  
comfortable?" Firley nodded. "Good. Perhaps you'd like to take  
a short nap and forget all this." As he reached Firley, he put out  
his hand, and moved it down. The man's eyes followed it, and  
closed.

"And that, kid, is how to hypnotize someone." Alex clapped,  
Alex-style.

"Will he be all right?" asked Elisa.

"If anything, he'll have a mild headache when he awakens, but  
I doubt he'll even have that. I've done this before," said Puck  
with a bit of pride.

"What now?" asked Fox, impatient with all this. She knew the  
baby had to have his lessons, but the idea of it gave her the  
willies. Best to get it over with so that Alex could get back to  
being a semi-normal baby.

"Now, we play. Pay attention, kid." He set Alex in place on  
his lap, then lifted his arms.

"Threads of magic, to tie and bind,

Show what hand controls this mind."

A sparkly green mist swirled from his fingertips to settle around  
Firley. The mist curled lazily at his eyes, his ears, then slid into his  
mouth in a disturbingly sensual way.

Firley bit down, shook himself trying to get free of the magic. "Get  
out!" he bellowed in a voice not his own. The green mist fled with his  
words, and for the second time, his eyes glowed the same sickly color.  
The tendrils fled back to Puck, ricocheting like a tape measure coiling  
back into place. Puck slipped, off-balance in his airy perch.

He muttered a mild expletive. "That wasn't supposed to happen.  
Whoever set this didn't want anyone tampering with it."

"Can you get around it?" asked David.

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "But he _will_ have a nasty  
headache in the morning." He picked Alex up. "Your turn."

Her son lifted his chubby arms and babbled something that  
could have been the spell Puck had just used. Whatever he said,  
small wisps of green came from his little fingers and headed to  
Firley.

Fox closed her eyes. She didn't want to see this, she  
decided, and felt grateful for the touch of David's hand, wrapping  
securely around her own.

She kept her eyes shut, as Firley shouted "No!" A few moments  
trickled by. "Stay out, damn you!" A little more time passed  
"Please, please stay out of my mind," said Firley in a tiny, timid  
voice. "Please!" he squeaked, and then he was silent.

She opened her eyes.

A moment later, Firley opened his. Green light poured from  
them, and spilled harmlessly away into nothing. Amazed, Fox saw  
the yellow coming through brightly, noticed that the green was from  
an overlay of peacock blue.

"Now," said Puck in a tolerant tone, "what were the conditions  
of the spell?" He continued to examine the green light.

Firley said hollowly, "You must be alone with Xanatos and  
Burnett. Kill Xanatos. Kill anyone who gets between you and  
Xanatos. Should Fox or Alexander enter the room, stop. If another  
enters the room, do not stop. Do _not_ harm the Queen's get in any  
way. You will use a knife to kill Xanatos. These are the  
specifications." He rattled off a series of acceptable alloy  
compositions, and the size, shape, and weight of the blade. All of  
the alloys were high in unprocessed iron.

"Do you know who cast it?" whispered David.

Puck ignored him, looking closer at the threads. Then he  
said, "There is no signature to the spell. The caster wished to  
remain unknown under even a thorough scan."

"So it could still be anyone," said Fox dispiritedly. They  
had been so close.

"No. It couldn't." He reached out, almost touching the beam,  
then drawing away again. "Just because there is no signature does  
not mean I can't see the handwriting." His eyes flicked up. "I  
recognize the way it was worked."

He held up his hands again, Alex raised his arms. The green  
glow diminished, and was gone. Firley slumped in his chair. Puck  
floated over, touched his forehead, and mouthed something.

"He'll sleep for a while. When he awakens, take him home. He  
won't remember a thing." The fay sighed, and then he hovered back  
over to the bed. He sank down to the sheets, and his form twisted,  
became one she knew well. With his return to his human form, he  
also returned to infirmity. He lay, exhausted, against the pile of  
pillows behind him.

Then he reached forward with his good hand and patted  
Alexander affectionately on the head. "Very good, little one."  
Alex grinned toothlessly.

Elisa went to Firley's side, and checked his pulse. "He's  
alive anyway." She stared at Owen. "I have no idea how I will  
explain this to the Captain."

"Don't," said David. "He'll be fine by morning."

"Right," she said, disbelief written all over her face.

"So who did it?" asked Fox, going out of her mind with wonder,

"The spell had all the earmarks of the Three. The words were  
wrong. Undoubtedly they wished to hide their involvement. I know  
what their spells feel like. It was they." His eyes were very  
far, focused on something Fox knew she would never see.

"Damn," said David.

"Why would they want to kill you?" asked Elisa.

"They've been trying to kill me since I was born. This is  
nothing new." Fox could tell he was lying, badly. Apparently  
Elisa could, as well.

"Something's different," she stated. Her voice, her stance,  
all said she wasn't moving until she found out why.

David asked, "Do you think it could have something to do with  
Ian?" Owen winced.

"Who's Ian?" asked Elisa.

"No one," said Owen coldly, staring at David. "And I'll thank  
you to not discuss the matter further."

"What matter?" asked Fox, fixing David with a stare of her own.

David watched Owen as he said, "It's nothing."

"David," she said in her most saccharine-sweet voice.

"Never mind. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No," said Owen, "you shouldn't have."

Elisa watched all this, annoyance on her face. "Enough!" she  
shouted finally. "I'm sick of all this dancing around, and  
secrets, and everything else." She met Owen's cold face with a  
hard look of her own. "Whatever you're hiding this time, be  
assured that I don't give a damn about it one way or the other.  
Unfortunately, I'm supposed to be investigating why Chuckles here,"  
she jerked her thumb at Firley, "tried to turn you into a drive-  
thru. You can play nice and let the rest of us know what's going  
on, or I can leave. And next time," she said to David, "you can  
have another detective investigate the troubles in your life."

"I doubt you'd want that to happen," said David, and he was  
right, but Elisa was visibly at the end of her rope.

"You'd be surprised," she responded, and the words hung in the  
air like a threat. Most likely an empty threat, but it remained  
nonetheless. She turned to Owen. "Why do the Three Sisters want  
to kill you? This time."

He looked down at Alex, idly brushed a stray red curl back  
into place. "Because I'm the only one who knows what they did."

"Which was?"

He took a deep breath. In a few simple words, he explained  
precisely what had happened. Fox listened, trying to comprehend  
everything he said. She had sisters? And a stepbrother? Who was  
now dead because of them?

Elisa said nothing at first. Her face remained impassive,  
almost stony. Fox let herself grow angry at the other woman. She  
seemed to have compassion for everyone else they'd ever met. Why  
couldn't she at least offer a little sympathy for this?

Then she said very softly, "He never knew. His entire life, and he  
never knew." Fox hadn't remembered until that moment: Elisa had met  
Ian, had known him, for however short a time. The look on her face,  
which she had taken for indifference, was grief, and well-concealed  
sorrow, though whether it was for Ian, his friends, or all of them, Fox  
didn't know.

"I don't get it," Fox said, still trying to grasp what Owen  
had told them. "I guess I can see why they'd kill him. They want  
the throne. He could have taken it from them. But why come after  
you afterwards? It's not like you're ... " She stared at him, a  
horrible suspicion growing deep in her stomach. "In line. For the  
throne." A smile without joy touched his lips. "Oh my God," she  
said. "You are." All the implications of this struck her at one time.

"What?" asked Elisa, a few steps behind.

David turned to her conversationally and said, "Puck is Oberon's  
son."

Elisa looked from David to Owen, who still rested against the  
headboard, and back again. "We're not talking figuratively, are  
we." There was hope in the question, overlaid with a tiredness  
that seemed to radiate more and more from the detective every time  
she dealt with them.

"No," said Owen. He turned to Fox. "The answer to your next  
question is also 'No.' We're not related."

"Oh," she said. All the implications of that struck her. "Oh," she  
said again, frowning. "Does my mother know?"

"You could say that. She threatened to have me killed when  
Oberon brought me home for the first time. We have since learned  
to get along better." His head turned towards David. "I never  
told you. When did you ... "

"When I met Oberon, I wondered. When you told me about Ian,  
I was certain."

He let out a breath. "It's not important anyway. The bargain  
for my life made it clear that he would never acknowledge me. The  
throne belongs to the Three."

"You've said that before," said David. "If they're going to  
inherit anyway, why kill you?"

"Because they violated the law," he said. "None of our kind  
shall kill another of our own, under pain of death. They killed  
Ian. I can prove it. If I do, they will lose their birthright and  
possibly their lives. That's why they want me dead." The truth,  
something Fox had never thought she'd hear in its entirety from  
him, rang in his voice.

"I'd say it would be a pretty good idea to tell, then," remarked Elisa.  
"Why don't you notify Oberon?"

"I've been banished from Avalon. Perhaps you've noticed this."

"You can't bring him here?" asked Fox.

"No. Charges such as these must be made at High Court, and  
deliberated in front of the assembly. I cannot go."

"I could," she said. David turned to stare at her. "I'll bet  
Mother would like a visit. I can present the case." Yes. The  
more she thought about it, the more she thought, _I can do this._  
The thought excited her. Avalon! The Fairy Court!

"That wouldn't work." Owen's voice cut across her fantasy  
like a knife. "You would have the information second-hand. I am  
the one who knows where he went after he left the Island the first  
time. I have to present the case myself."

"Is there any way you would be allowed to go back, just for  
this?" Elisa was deep in thought. "Maybe you could ask for  
immunity."

He opened his mouth. And closed it again. "I _can_ go back,"  
he said carefully. He looked at Fox. "If I were to arrive under  
your banner, so to speak, it might be possible. Your mother would  
have given strict instructions not to harm you or anyone traveling  
with you. The others would have to give us leave to go to the  
Palace. I could present my case there."

Fox barely noticed that he didn't seem enthusiastic about the  
idea. Instead, she again saw images of the Fairy Court in her  
mind, and beamed at the thought. "When do you want to go?"

"It's not that easy."

"You just said ... "

"I said it was possible. It is also possible that Oberon has  
completed the banishment and will bind me magically from entering  
the waters around the Isle. Those were the terms of the Diaspora.  
I imagine he'd keep them."

"How can we find out?" asked David, clearly deep in thought  
already as to the logistics of getting Owen to Avalon.

"I'll know. When I attempt to cast the spell to go back, I'll  
know immediately." He closed his eyes again. He wore fatigue on  
his face like a scar, and she recognized for the first time just  
how much it had taken out of him to give Alex his lesson.

"We'll wait until you're feeling better," she said.

"Thank you," he replied. He didn't object when David took the  
baby from his arms. Alex wrapped his arms around his daddy's neck,  
and closed his own eyes. In moments, he was sound asleep. David  
patted his back softly.

Elisa said, "How about we let Sleeping Beauty here catch a few  
winks before I drive him home?" She indicated Firley, who was  
himself snoring softly in the chair. David nodded, and handed Alex  
to Fox. She cradled him carefully, but other than a movement of  
his mouth, he didn't show any signs of wakening.

David and Elisa caught Firley under the arms, and half-walked,  
half-dragged him out of the room, presumably towards one of the  
many guest rooms. Fox stayed a moment longer, holding her son.

"Will you be all right?" she asked Owen.

"Fine," he said, his voice a ghost. As were Alex and Firley,  
Owen was on his way to dreamland. She waited a few minutes longer,  
rocking slightly, stroking Alex's head, hoping he didn't waken and  
start yowling. He didn't. Owen's breathing grew deeper, and she  
was aware that he'd fallen asleep.

She crept to the side of the bed to watch him. Oberon's son?  
The face he wore now bore little resemblance to the Fairy King, but  
as Puck, she thought, there was enough of a likeness to make her  
wonder why she'd never noticed it before. She wasn't quite sure  
what relationships were like among the fay, but to her human mind,  
that meant he was her stepbrother.

Her family, which had previously consisted only of herself and  
her parents, had grown at an exponential rate in the past few  
years. Suddenly, she was related to people all over the place, and  
had more siblings than she'd dreamed possible. She remembered  
being very small and wishing for a sister to play with, then growing a  
little and wishing for an elder brother with cute friends. Her mother  
had always laughed when she'd said such things, and in standard reply  
had cautioned her about making wishes.

As of today, she had three sisters and two brothers. She was  
married to her big brother's best friend. Life was strange sometimes.  
She wondered if her mother had planned that last part all along, a way  
of granting her wish. The question worried her. Her reading, not to  
mention her experiences of the past year, had taught her something  
important.

Wishes granted by the Queen of Fairy always had their price.

VVVVV

Much of the iron from the blade had entered his bloodstream,  
still floated there, gradually dispersing through his body. His  
endocrine system, something he'd borrowed from Vogel's form just as  
he'd taken the myopia, filtered out the particles day by day,  
reducing their level until the soreness in his limbs was more  
phantom pain than real agony. Nevertheless, he took a long time to  
heal, longer than a human would have, and the difference annoyed  
him.

Doctor Howard couldn't understand why her patient's recovery  
was so prolonged, and he adamantly refused any further testing than  
was absolutely necessary. At one point, Mr. Xanatos had asked him  
to consent to an MRI. As they had been alone, he had felt no  
qualms about asking whether such a machine had been installed in  
their upstate facility, the same where his employer had once  
offered sanctuary to the gargoyles after defaming them. The man,  
always intelligent for a mortal, had taken the hint.

He'd been allowed to have his laptop with him, on the  
condition he not work for more than two hours per day until he was  
fully recovered, doctor's orders matched with an equally binding  
order from Xanatos. Not wanting to get too far behind in his  
duties, he'd meekly accepted the limitation and made certain to  
have two very productive hours.

The rest of his time was officially free, and despite his  
protests that he was perfectly capable of continuing to work, he  
wasn't permitted. Even Alexander's magic lessons were suspended  
for the time being, and while he could spend time with the child as  
he pleased, he had to make certain someone was nearby to take him  
back. As he was currently deemed incapable of taking care of the  
baby, his own portion of childcare, the part not taken up by the  
boy's parents, Lexington, or Mrs. Ong, had to be shifted to  
another.

Thus, despite his very best efforts to the contrary, Owen came  
into contact with Princess Katharine.

He'd been the one to raise the loudest fuss when he'd learned  
she had been taking care of Alexander already. He'd carefully  
pointed out her own infirmity, her inability to remember little  
things like who the rest of them were, and the like. Even with the  
Guardian never far from her side, she wasn't safe for or with the  
baby. It wasn't as if they couldn't afford an entire platoon of  
nannies, either.

He was careful not to mention that he personally disliked her.  
His arguments would only be undermined.

For whatever reason, he was overruled. According to Fox, she  
was perfectly lucid when she was with the baby. His suggestion  
that this might not always be the case was met with coldness. Fox  
was incapable of impartiality when it came to Katharine, and while  
he was fairly sure he understood why, far more than she did in  
truth, it was still exasperating. Fox had final say on who watched  
her son and who didn't. Katharine stayed.

During the few times she brought Alexander to him over the first  
week of his confinement, he treated her with the coolest respect he  
could muster. He would be polite, as was called for by his role, but no  
further. She, lost in whatever mad world she'd created in the cobwebs  
of her own thoughts, didn't appear to notice.

He ignored her intentionally. She ignored him as she ignored  
the rest of the castle's residents more each day. He glared at her  
when no one else was nearby. She stared past him, seeing people  
long dead. His infrequent words to her were double-edged as  
insults. She, thinking him to be some knave from her past, called  
him things he hadn't heard for centuries.

Alex laughed for them both. When she tended to him, she did  
seem more grounded in reality, although she probably thought she  
was diapering a baby gargoyle. The child was real in whatever time  
she believed herself to be living, and while even he could see the  
slender bones at her wrists and in her face becoming more prominent  
daily, he also saw the glow of life upon her cheek when Alexander  
was near. He couldn't help but sympathize.

With the help of the gentle flow of power between himself and  
Alexander, his own strength was returning. He expected to be  
completely restored by Thanksgiving, and with Doctor Howard's  
permission, he increased his workload to four hours per day,  
although he still wasn't allowed to be alone with the child. If  
Katharine was in the room with them, Alexander could play on his  
activity mat while he worked. Sometimes the Guardian would be with  
them, and sometimes he would not. Either way, Katharine would be  
playing with Alex, or else reading while the boy amused himself,  
keeping a careful eye on him. Owen would work at his terminal,  
also with half an ear towards the baby. And the three of them  
would be quite content.

They eventually settled into a pattern of Katharine's  
delusions. She was under the impression that he was a visiting  
lord from South Wales (although she never once forgot Alexander's  
name), and regaled him with tales. He listened despite himself,  
and occasionally coaxed her towards specific stories. She was, he  
knew, the best source of information he would ever find about  
questions he'd tried to make himself forget, for a thousand years,  
and then again after her arrival. The questions were clear as  
quartz in his mind, and he asked. She answered.

He thought to tell her the other half of the stories she knew, how  
there really was no mystery as to why they'd gone where they had, how  
the Island pulled its own always, so of course one born of it, having  
tasted it even in infancy, would return to its sheltering berth the way a  
needle rubbed against a magnet always longed to point north.

He never did.

He would look in her half-mad eyes, and know beyond a doubt  
that it would do no good to tell her what he knew, that it might  
even chase her into her grave that much faster. She would be there  
soon enough without his aid, and as the days went by, he found that  
he did not enjoy that thought nearly as much as he thought he  
might. In fact, he did not enjoy it at all. Even in his limited  
human body, he could sense dark bands circling like ravens around  
the intermittent brightness of her soul. He knew that when they  
finally descended upon it to blot out the light, he would mourn for  
the sake of his brother, who had loved her, and himself, who  
finally understood why.

Ten days after the incumbent President was re-elected, a week  
before he would be given clearance by the doctor to return fully to  
this little life he'd made, a good two weeks since he'd grudgingly  
acknowledged to himself that he enjoyed Katharine's company, he  
finally found the reference he needed. Half an hour after that, he  
discovered that he was, once again, two days too late.

VVVVV

"Mrs. Atkins?"

The woman brushed her hand across her face, "Yes?" Hidden  
behind her tear-stained makeup lay a young woman, perhaps her own  
age.

She held out her hand. "Fox Xanatos." The other woman shook  
her hand, but if the name meant anything to her, she didn't show  
it. "I'm sorry to hear about your husband."

"Did you know him?" There were two questions in the one,  
making her wonder just what their marriage had been like.

"Not exactly. Mrs Atkins, did you know your husband had two  
children by his first wife?" That would have been back before he  
changed his name. No wonder it took Owen so long to find him.

"Jack and Hannah. He told me about them when Ricky was born.  
He wanted to look them up, tell them about us, but he never did."  
Her eyes widened. "Are you ... ?"

She shook her head. "I'm a friend of theirs." That wasn't  
precisely the truth, either, but it would do.

"Do they know yet?"

"No." Arson. Owen had said it had been arson, and while  
Hyena was in stir, Jackal was nowhere to be found.

"Maybe I should tell them. I've wanted to meet the kids for  
a long time."

Fox considered the reaction of this woman when she found out  
her stepchildren had willingly turned themselves to cyborgs, and  
had spent the past two years in jail or on the run. "I don't know  
if that would be a good idea."

"You're probably right. No use bringing up the past."

A little boy of perhaps seven or eight scampered into the room  
and buried his face in his mother's leg. He turned his head to the  
side, peeked out, then hid his eyes again.

His mother stroked his hair. "Ricky, say hello to ... I'm  
sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Fox," she said, "Fox Xanatos."

He peeked out again. "Hello." His eyes grew big. "Fox!"

She put on a friendly smile and held out her hand. "It's nice  
to meet you, Ricky."

Under the confused gaze of his mother, he tiptoed over to her,  
and looking at her as if she might bite him, shook her hand. "Are  
you the real Fox?"

She nodded. "The one and only."

"Whoa." He looked around her. "Where's everyone else?"

"Everyone else?" asked his mother. Oh, she didn't know.

Fox straightened up. "I was on a children's show called 'The  
Pack' a few years ago. You might have heard of it."

The woman's eyes went wide. "Phil watched it with Ricky every  
day. That was you?"

"It was a while ago."

The little boy tugged on her pant leg. "Where are the  
others?"

She bent down again to his eye level. "They're on special  
assignments," she said gently. "Dingo is fighting crime in  
Australia."

"What about Wolf?"

He's in Riker's again, and as long as he keeps his mouth shut  
on how he was transformed, he'll be just fine. "Wolf and Jackal  
and Hyena are on a secret mission. I'm afraid I can't discuss it."

"Why aren't you and Dingo with them?"

"Dingo is needed where he is. And I have a little boy of my  
own I have to take care of now."

He looked at her. "No way."

"Way. He's just a baby, though."

"Xanatos," said Mrs. Atkins. "I think I know who you are."

"Then you can probably figure out a few things from there."

"We saw the reports on the news. After that, I didn't want  
Ricky to watch any more. Phil did. I'd send Ricky to another  
room, but Phil would turn it on anyway. I yelled at him for it."  
She looked as though she might start crying.

"I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"Not bad ones. Just memories. So what did you want?" Her eyes  
were over-bright, but there were no other signs of obvious pain.

"I need to find out whatever you can tell me about your  
husband's medical history. Hannah is pregnant. She's going to  
sign custody of the baby over to her mother, but I'm acting as an  
intermediary."

"Oh." She looked around distractedly. "Phil didn't talk much  
about his family. He told me he had a brother in Texas, but I  
don't even know his name. Phil was hardly ever sick. When I met  
him, he had a problem with his nose, but that was from ... " She  
glanced at her son. " ... That cleared up after we were married."

"I know about the time in jail. That was how we located him."

The little boy looked up. "Jail?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," said his mother. "Something that  
happened a long time ago." She looked hard at Fox. "I knew a lot  
more about Phil's past than I let on. I know all about the troubles he  
had with the law. I know he did things he wasn't proud of. But he  
changed. I changed him. He wasn't a saint, but he was a good father  
for Ricky. I don't know if he was trying to make up for the mistakes he  
made before, and I don't care. I loved him, and he loved us. That's all I  
ever needed."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I ... I  
understand what you mean."

She stood back and looked at her a moment. "Maybe you do. I  
really can't help you any further. I don't know what his parents died of,  
and as for Phil," she smiled bitterly, "I thought he'd live another fifty  
years."

"Ricky hasn't had any problems, then?"

"Nothing you'd have to worry about."

"Then I'll go. Thank you for your time." She turned towards  
the door, then looked back, unsure as to why. "Is there anything  
I can do? To help?"

"No," she said far too quickly. "But thank you."

"Are you going to come back?" asked the boy eagerly. "My  
friends won't believe me when I tell them you were here."

"I don't think I can, Ricky. The Evil Ninjas are always out  
there ready to strike. It wouldn't be safe if they knew you and I  
were friends."

"Oh." He glanced at his mother, then gestured for Fox to lean  
down. He cupped his hand against her ear and whispered, "I know  
there aren't any Evil Ninjas, but Mom thinks there are."

She nodded seriously, and whispered back, "Then we'll let her  
think we believe in them too." She tousled the kid's chestnut hair, and  
asked, "Who's your favorite character on the show?"

He grinned. "Wolf! My favorite show is the one where the Gnat  
gets magic powers and turns Wolf into a little boy." She couldn't  
contain the shudder she typically associated with mention of _that_  
episode. The child actor hired to play young Wolf had been Satan's  
younger brother. Ricky didn't notice. His face dropped a little as he  
added, "Dad taped the one where you and Wolf and Dingo were  
kidnaped by Lord Kataclyz and Jackal and Hyena had to rescue you.  
He liked that one a lot." Fox pulled her eyes away from the child's,  
instead saw what she thought was sudden recognition in the other  
woman's gaze.

Mrs. Atkins placed her hand on her son's shoulder, but addressed  
Fox as she said, "We lost that tape in the fire, along with Ricky's action  
figures. I wanted to replace them, but maybe it'd be better if I didn't.  
What do you think?" She'd put two and two together, then.

"I think you might be right. Goodbye, Ricky. Take care of  
your mother."

"Yes ma'am! Wibblefish!"

She smiled. "Wibblefish." She nodded to Mrs. Atkins, and  
walked out.

VVVVV

Elisa jabbed the button on the elevator with a singular lack of  
enthusiasm. She'd spent most of her day engaged in a ritual common to  
people since time out of mind, or at least since the invention of the  
shopping center: Black Friday.

Her mother, normally one of the more practical people she'd  
ever known, had informed her daughters the three of them were going  
out on the single worst shopping day of the year. She'd announced  
the trip to both of them Wednesday after picking up Beth at the  
airport and confirming that Elisa had both Thursday and Friday  
nights off.

Elisa wasn't positive, but she was relatively sure there was  
something in all first-time-grandmothers-to-be that short-circuited  
the normal functions of the brain. Hell, when Fox had been in  
month eight or so, Titania had created a race of nanites who'd came  
awfully close to wiping out the planet.

She doubted that the trip had led to Beth's dark mood, but she  
also doubted it did anything to lighten it. Her little sister had  
been sullen and preoccupied when she'd arrived home. Elisa had  
gone to work shortly afterwards, had noted that Beth's attitude  
hadn't improved when she arrived down in the Labyrinth too early in  
the afternoon for her tastes to help with dinner the following day.  
There had been no time to get her alone to talk.

Poor Maggie had been a wreck when she'd gotten there, fallen  
prey to the double stress of hormones working evil magic on her  
emotions and the desire to have everything perfect for Thanksgiving  
this year. The rest of the family, at least the ones awake during  
the daylight hours, were busy getting the meal prepared, and never  
mind that, in Elisa's memory, they'd never had a traditional sit  
down "turkey and all the trimmings" dinner for T-Day at their own  
home. She'd been given the enviable job of peeling and slicing  
potatoes. Beth was working on one of the desserts. Elisa couldn't  
find time to ask about what was troubling her. Other than the one  
tearful phone call she'd received, in which Beth had told her  
rather disjointedly that Sarah had broken up with her on the advice  
of one of Elisa's friends, her sister had been awfully silent on  
the matter of her very first honest to goodness broken heart.

Beth was contagious. By the time the clan had arrived, few of  
those present were overly cheerful. Maggie's state of mind had  
only worsened when the clones awoke. There was no way to deny it  
any longer: she wasn't the only one expecting. Delilah's middle,  
which Maggie still hadn't coaxed her into covering a bit more than  
she did, was taut and smooth with what was surely an egg, and none  
of them doubted who the father had been. What should have been a  
joyful sign, the first egg in the clan for a thousand years, was  
instead a bitter reminder of the twisted, lost soul who'd created  
the clones. Even beyond his fiery grave, his claws ripped and tore  
at their lives.

The guys hadn't helped. Still flustered by seeing their own  
faces on different bodies, they had avoided their other selves  
studiously during dinner. Derek had been on edge, trying to ease  
Maggie's tension by catering to what he thought she wanted, which  
only made her more upset. Her parents had been smart enough not to  
offer them advice, knowing they'd learn to sort it out their own  
way; it also meant they were extremely quiet. Princess Katharine  
and the Guardian had come as part of the clan, which really hadn't  
been a good idea, either; she was having a bad time of it that day,  
unsure who anyone was and mumbling to herself.

Angela had tried very hard to get everyone to talk, which had  
been a sweet gesture but a badly mistimed one. Brooklyn had tried  
to make small talk. With Beth. About Sarah.

She hadn't actually decked him. This had been because Elisa  
had immediately grabbed one of her sister's arms while Goliath had  
gingerly taken the other, and they'd not let go until she promised  
not to kill him. She'd said some very unfortunate things and  
stalked off.

Thanksgiving was declared over after that.

In comparison to dinner, the shopping trip had almost been  
pleasant. Almost. Beth had apologized to her for saying that  
Elisa didn't know any normal people, but it was going to take her  
a long time to get to where she could apologize to everyone else.  
She was not going to be speaking to Brooklyn anytime soon.

Their mother had accepted Beth's apology, and had appeared to  
forget the entire incident. Her daughters knew better, knew that  
the day would not be forgotten, would be used for years afterwards  
as an example. Diane had then dragged them to the nearest mall and  
made them carry armloads of baby toys, gadgets and accessories.  
Despite what logic and common sense might dictate, she bought  
several cute, androgynous outfits and a boatload of onesies.

After she considered herself well-shopped for the baby, the  
holiday shopping began. Mercifully, she'd allowed Elisa to leave  
around seven, although there had been plenty of stores left to hit.  
Elisa had taken the opportunity and run to the relative safety and  
sanity of Castle Wyvern.

She went to the roof first, and finding no one there, headed  
towards the living room. She saw Lexington first, and from his  
expression, knew immediately that her day had not improved.

"What happened?" she asked. Goliath sat, a book in his hand  
unopened. His eyes lit when he saw her, but there was worry on his  
face as well. Everyone was sitting or standing except ...

"Princess Katharine fell. Angela and the Guardian are with  
her."

"How bad is it?"

"She broke her leg," said Angela, coming in the room behind  
her. She looked tired, and her eyes stayed at the floor. Her talon  
picked idly at the edge of her short skirt. Broadway came to her,  
touched her elbow, but made no other move.

A broken leg. That wasn't so bad. "Has the doctor set it yet?"

"She set it well enough for the journey." _Journey?_ "Owen  
looked in on her. He said ... " She broke off, and grief touched  
her lovely face. "The Guardian and I are taking her back to  
Avalon. She needs to be home now."

"What!"

"Home?"

"Lass ... "

"What do you mean," asked Broadway, "the Guardian and you?"

"I'm going home with them," she said quietly, finally meeting his  
eyes. "I need to go. I need to be there."

"But ... " he said. "You could be gone for years." Fear was all over  
his wide face, and also hope that she would say this was all a bad joke,  
that she would stay forever there with him.

"I won't be," she said very quietly. She placed her hand over his.  
"I promise I'll be back soon."

"Please don't go," he said, oblivious to the fact that the rest of them  
were there.

"This isn't open for debate," she said resolutely, and the discussion  
was over.

VVVVV

VVVVV

Owen's face remained impassive as he delivered the news.

"They're leaving?" asked Fox. "They can't. She ought to be  
here while she recovers." She turned to David, almost pleading with  
him. "We've got the proper medical facilities here. We can take  
care of her."

She had been good, dammit. She hadn't pushed, hadn't gone to  
the woman's side asking more questions. Realizing how her thoughts  
were sounding, even to herself, she noted ruefully that she'd even  
eaten all her vegetables.

"Did she tell you what happened?" asked David.

Owen shook his head. "The staircase in question was somewhat  
redesigned when the castle was moved. I imagine she thought she  
was walking down the old one." There was no disapproval in his  
voice, no irritation at her, simply a regretful sadness, a mourning  
for the woman she had been.

"We should go back with them," said Fox quickly. "They'll be  
going to Avalon, we'll be going to Avalon. We should get ready."

"No. We're not going back with them."

"Why not?" This made no sense to her.

"Not until she's passed on. I will not put her through what  
our appeal would do to her."

Fox stared at Owen. Outwardly, he was back to his former  
self: calm, formal, almost emotionless, without a physical trace of  
the recent attempt on his life. However, the few flickers on his  
face from within spoke countless volumes of the changes he'd  
suffered in the past five months. He was still Owen, to them would  
always be Owen, but the childlike Puck inside him, governing his  
every movement, had grown into something unexpected.

From what she could glean, he'd been raised on Avalon as  
Oberon's servant, taught from birth to attend to the whims of his  
master without question. The role he'd carved for himself in his  
current life had been an echo of that servitude, this time bound to  
David, still as a minion, and possibly happy in that role.

When he'd been stripped of his powers and banished from his  
home, suddenly his life was undefined, and by habit, he'd slipped  
even more into the role of the perfect servant. It was a familiar  
thing to him, a game he knew how to play when all his other games  
were so abruptly, and permanently, denied him. David was not  
Oberon, and she sure as hell wasn't her mother, and despite  
himself, Owen was no longer entirely a servant. Fox doubted he  
knew _who_ he was at the moment, but the slow discovery, helped by  
the continuous discoveries of the past months, had forced the  
eternal child within his soul to become, at least in part, an adult.

The adult was surrendering something the child would have taken  
at any cost, the chance to return home and take revenge on the ones  
who had hurt him.

Fox knew she would have taken it, and she felt very small.

"When will they be leaving?" asked David, obviously already  
considering the matter closed.

"As soon as Doctor Howard finishes setting her leg. Possibly an  
hour."

"We should pay our respects." She knew somehow that the four  
of them would not accompany them back to the lake in the Park, that  
it was not their place to do so.

She recalled one of her more vivid dreams of the woman. She  
had been a girl on the edge of becoming a woman, conflicting ideas  
and desires bubbling from inside her, her eyes quick and sharp,  
seeking out what she could find in everything. Back when she'd had  
those dreams, she hadn't known much of her history after the  
gargoyles had gone to sleep, and Fox had spent too much time  
wondering what had become of her. She'd feared the story, when she  
found it, would read the typical one of the time: given young to a  
loveless marriage, a brief life, and death accompanied by the  
squall of a newborn.

It shouldn't have mattered to her, any more than it mattered that for  
every life like that, there had been thousands spent never going further  
than a league from home, growing up, growing old, and dying having  
never set eyes on the sea. But it did matter, because she could have  
easily been that girl in sea-blue skirts. Seeing what her life had  
become, knowing she'd spent that life in the company of friends and in  
the arms of a man she loved, gave Fox a peculiar comfort. Yes, she had  
grown befuddled, and no, she would never be young again, but the  
woman who had been the girl had tasted joy, and that was something  
not everyone could say.

She wasted one more moment, turning the baby monitor up so  
that she could hear the steady breathing of her son in his crib. Then she  
took David's hand, and the three of them went to say good-bye to their  
guests.

VVVVV

Elisa went with the clan to wish them well, hug Angela, and see  
Katharine for what she knew would be the last time.

Goliath embraced his daughter for a long moment, enfolding her  
in his wings as if trying to protect her for one last time from all the evil  
in the world. When he finally let her go, Elisa felt his heart crumble.  
Her own father had worn the same expression after he'd helped her  
move into her first apartment and suddenly realized that, although he  
and her mother were always welcome there, it was Elisa's home and not  
theirs.

Broadway held Angela for an age. She kissed him on his cheek,  
rested her head at his shoulder momentarily, and slipped from his arms.  
Goliath lifted Katharine as if she weighed no more than a small bird,  
and placed her delicately into the boat, which had somehow remained  
moored during their entire stay. She stared up at him, not speaking,  
probably having no idea who he was.

The Guardian stroked her head, and in an instant, Elisa saw all  
thirty years of their marriage on his face, marked in tears and giggles  
and the impossible joy of finding one's soulmate in the guise of one's  
closest friend. Her hand found Goliath's and held it as Angela untied  
the boat. She stepped aboard. The Trio each took hold of a bit of skiff,  
and pushed it out into the lake.

There were words, and there was mist, and then there was nothing  
on the water but ripples.

VVVVV


End file.
